


A Series of H/C One-Shots for Les Mis

by carefulren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Minor Injuries, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Sick Character, Sick Enjolras, Sick Grantaire, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, mostly those 2 let's be honest lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-10-04 16:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 58,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: These are Tumblr prompt fills! I will add more as I fill more!





	1. Where R Tries to Tell E That He's Sick, But E Thinks He's Lying to Get Out of a Rally

“I may pass on the LGBTQ rally tomorrow.” 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes as Grantaire shot him a weak grin while rubbing the back of his neck. He needed Grantaire there tomorrow, not that he ever liked to admit it out loud. But, Courfeyrac had brought up the good point that Grantaire had a way of getting people revved up. People gravitated towards the brunet, and when he chanted, everyone chanted. So, no. Grantaire couldn’t miss this rally– not when it concerned something so important. 

“Why?” Enjolras asked, crossing his arms. 

“I’m not feeling so hot,” Grantaire muttered through a nervous laugh. 

Enjolras tilted his head, studying the brunet. Grantaire did seem pale and more tired than usual, but that could easily be pegged on the countless hours he had been spending working on banners for the rally. “You just need rest,” Enjolras stated, softening his expression. 

“Enj-”

“R, I need you there,” Enjolras started, cutting Grantaire off. “The people love you.” 

Grantaire scoffed. “No, they love you, Enj. They could listen to your speeches for days.” 

Enjolras couldn’t deny that, but he knew that a part of the reason people loved his speeches so much was because of Grantaire cheering him on from the crowd. “Grantaire, you have to go.” 

Grantaire sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know, Enj.” 

“Are you just making up an excuse to get out of this?” Enjolras asked, voice low. He hated assuming the worst now that he and Grantaire were on such good terms, but this wouldn’t be the first excuse. Granted, that had been early on when Grantaire was still heavy on the alcohol, but still. Enjolras had to know. 

“No!” Grantaire shouted, tossing his hands up. “Jesus, Enjolras. Fine, I’l go.” With that, Grantaire walked off while cursing under his breath. 

Enjolras briefly contemplated going after Grantaire, but Jehan gestured for him to come work out some parts of the speech, so he went towards Jehan instead.

*****

Enjolras smiled wide at the thunderous applause that followed his words. He scanned the crowd, eyes falling on Grantaire, who was jumping up and down and thrusting his fist into the air. His smile grew– he knew that all Grantaire needed was some rest. 

Once the crowd calmed down, Enjolras closed the rally by announcing when and where the next would be. He hopped off the stage and started maneuvering around people, occasionally stopping to shake hands. He wanted to find Grantaire– they needed to celebrate. 

“Enjolras!” 

Enjolras spotted Courfeyrac waving him towards the group. He made his way towards them, smile fading away into a frown when he noticed Grantaire’s absence. “Where’s R?” 

“He went on ahead to the Musain,” Combeferre answered. “He said something about getting the celebratory drinks ready.” 

Enjolras nodded, eyes shifting towards the Musain across the street. He felt Courfeyrac’s hand drop down on his shoulder. 

“You killed it as always, E! Let’s go get drunk!” Courfeyrac shouted before sprinting towards the Musain. 

Enjolras laughed before following.

*****

“Where the hell is R with our drinks?” Bahorel shouted, gesturing towards their usual table that was missing drinks as well as Grantaire. “Dammit. I’ll get them,” he added before stomping off towards the bar. 

Enjolras glanced around the Musain, eyes darting over each person, but he couldn’t find Grantaire. He asked the bartender, who pointed towards the bathroom. 

“Thanks,” Enjolras said before quickly making his way towards the bathroom. He pushed the door open and breathed out a sigh of relief when he found Grantaire standing in front of one of the sinks with his head bowed. “Hey,” he said as he started towards the brunet. “You were ama…”

Enjolras’s words trailed off when he noticed that Grantaire was gripping the edges of the sink to the point where his knuckles were white. “R?” He hesitantly reached out, placing a hand on Grantaire’s trembling arm. “R, are you okay?” 

Grantaire finally looked up at Enjolras, and Enjolras gasped. Grantaire was incredibly pale, but his cheeks were deep red. There was a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, and the dark circles underneath his eyes looked as if he hadn’t gotten a single minute of sleep. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, voice suddenly very small. 

“I’m,” Grantaire wheezed, pausing to cough harshly, “fine.” 

Enjolras winced at how wrecked Grantaire’s voice sounded. He moved his hand to Grantaire’s neck, frowning at the heat as he slid his hand up to Grantaire’s cheek and then his forehead. 

“You’re not,” Enjolras said with a clipped tone as he pulled his hand away. “I’m going to get Joly–”

“Don’t!” Grantaire shouted, letting go of the sink and turning until he was fully facing Enjolras. 

Startled, Enjolras staggered backwards a few steps, and for a few moments, the two stood in silence, albeit Grantaire’s rapid breathing. Enjolras was about to repeat the need to get Joly when Grantaire’s eyes rolled back. 

“R!” Enjolras shouted, closing the distance between he and Grantaire with impressive speed. He reached for the brunet, dropping to his knees with Grantaire in his arms as Grantaire crumpled to the ground.  

“Shit,” Enjolras breathed out as he cradled Grantaire in his arms. Yesterday came back and hit him full force. Grantaire had told him he wasn’t feeling well, but Enjolras had ignored him. 

He snagged Grantaire’s phone from the brunet’s jacket, punching Joly’s speed dial number.  

*****

Enjolras gnawed at his lower lip as he watched Joly and Combeferre study Grantaire’s condition. Joly and Combeferre had come pounding into the bathroom not three seconds after Enjolras had told Joly to get in here. The two shooed Enjolras away before crouching on either side of the brunet. 

“He’s definitely running a fever,” Joly announced as he pressed the back of his hand to Grantaire’s brow. 

Combeferre pressed his fingers onto Grantaire’s wrist. “Accelerated heart rate,” he said after a minute.  

Enjolras could feel the panic swelling within his stomach. This was all his fault– Grantaire could be dying for all he knew, and it was all his fault. “He said,” he started, clearing his throat, “he said he wasn’t feeling well last night after the meeting.” 

“My guess is the flu with a fever this high,” Joly said with a firm voice before standing. “I’m going to have Courfeyrac get his car.” 

Combeferre nodded, eyes never leaving Grantaire. Once Joly was out of the bathroom, Combeferre looked back at Enjolras. “He told you he wasn’t feeling well, but you still made him come to the rally?” 

Enjolras moved forward, dropping down to his knees beside Grantaire. He felt horribly guilty, and he couldn’t get his mouth to form words, so he only nodded in response. 

“You’re a bloody idiot, Enjolras. You know he can’t say no to you.” 

Enjolras winced at Combeferre’s biting tone. He didn’t want to believe this, but everyone knew it was true. Grantaire would do just about anything for him. He was just about to apologize when Grantaire came to with a groan. 

“R,” Enjolras breathed out, cupping Grantaire’s cheek. “Can you hear me?” 

“E?” Grantaire called out weakly as he blinked against the bathroom lights. 

“I’m here. You’re fine– you are going to be fine.” Enjolras brushed his thumb lightly against Grantaire’s cheek when Grantaire leaned into his touch. 

“Feel like shit,” Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras nodded knowingly. 

“You fainted, R,” Combeferre started. “Our best guess is that you’ve got yourself a pretty bad strain of the flu.” 

Grantaire nodded before trying to push himself up into a sitting position. Enjolras was quick to help, wrapping a strong arm around Grantaire’s trembling shoulders. 

“Been feeling pretty achy over the last few days,” Grantaire muttered, and Enjolras cursed under his breath. 

“Yes, well, next time you aren’t feeling well enough to attend a rally, you come tell me or Joly. Understood?” Combeferre got to his feet. 

Grantaire nodded, closing his eyes and dropping his head against Enjolras’s shoulder as shivers wracked his slender frame.

“And you,” Combeferre started, pointing at Enjolras. “This,” he said, gesturing towards Grantaire. “This doesn’t happen again.” 

Enjolras quickly nodded just as Courfeyrac came racing into the bathroom with Joly hot on his heels. 

“R! Are you okay?” Courfeyrac raced to Grantaire’s free side, and together, he and Enjolras helped Grantaire stand. 

“He will be,” Combeferre said, opening the door. “We will take him to our apartment. Okay, Enjolras?” 

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and when Grantaire tried to protest, Enjolras lightly hushed him. He brushed his lips against Grantaire’s ear. “Let me take care of you. Please? This is my fault.” 

For a few moments, Grantaire was silent, but then he breathed out a quiet “okay,” and Enjolras took that as a win, tightening his grip around Grantaire’s waist as he and Courfeyrac helped the brunet out of the bar. 

He silently vowed to keep Grantaire in bed until he was feeling one hundred percent again– it was the least he could do. 


	2. Stubborn E Denying He's Sick, and R Being the Only Person Trying to Get E to Slow Down

Grantaire was trying to work on his art piece for his final– he really was. But, he couldn’t concentrate while sitting across from Enjolras, and he wasn’t even staring because he was mesmerized by his boyfriend like usual. No, he was staring because his boyfriend looked like utter shit. 

Enjolras had been sick for a few days now– nothing major, just a cold. But, he wouldn’t stop, and Grantaire was officially on edge. Normal people were supposed to rest when sick, but Enjolras had insisted that he didn’t have time, and now, his normally glowing skin looked washed out. His hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and he favored his glasses over his contacts. 

Grantaire dropped his drawing pad onto the library table with a sigh before flopping back against his chair and crossing his arms. 

“Finished?” Enjolras asked with a weak cough while still furiously taking notes from his reading. 

Grantaire winced at the rough sound of Enjolras’s hoarse voice. Enjolras had started coughing yesterday, and it only seemed to be getting worse– his poor throat taking a heavy beating. Grantaire had approached Combeferre about it in the morning, but Combeferre had told him that it was hopeless when it came to Enjolras and his rapidly deteriorating health. 

“You’re sick,” Grantaire said for what felt like the millionth time over the last few days, and Enjolras sighed, looking up from his notes. 

“This again?” Enjolras asked, voice tired. 

“Yes, this again,” Grantaire said, frustrated. “You’re are driving yourself into the ground, Enj!” The following shushing sounds had Grantaire waving an apology towards the table beside him. 

Enjolras turned to cough harshly into the crook of his arm. “I’m,” he started in between coughs, “fine.” 

“Because that was totally believable,” Grantaire grumbled once Enjolras caught his breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table top. “You need rest, Enj,” he pressed with a softer voice. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to pass these finals– my career is on the line here.” 

“You know the material like the back of your hand,” Grantaire countered knowingly. He reached forward, brushing his fingers against Enjolras’s free hand. 

Enjolras breathed out a low sigh, flipping his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Grantaire’s. “I have to be sure that I know it.” 

Grantaire jerked his hand back. He wasn’t mad– he was worried, but it was surfacing similar to anger. 

Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes, and the two stared at each other as if silently arguing– Grantaire’s eyes were narrowed and Enjolras’s seemed sunken in and tired. After a few moments, Enjolras broke the gaze, packing his books and notebooks into his bag. 

“I’m going,” Enjolras started, words trailing off as his breath hitched. He turned just in time to sneeze once, twice, three times into his arm. “I’m going to class.” 

Afraid of snapping at his sick boyfriend, Grantaire could only nod in response. He dropped his eyes to the table as Enjolras pressed a light kiss to the top of his head before walking off. 

*****

“I don’t see how you guys aren’t worried about this,” Grantaire grumbled. After Enjolras had left to his three hour lecture, Grantaire had gone in search of his friends, finding Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, and Cosette sitting under a tree outside. 

“There’s no point really,” Joly replied, biting into an apple. “You could beg him to rest, but he won’t– never does. You know this, R.” 

Grantaire sighed, falling back until he was lying on the grass. “I know, but I thought that he would be more willing to listen to me now that we’re dating.” 

Cosette pat his hand. “He listens, Grantaire. He’s just stressed.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it, R,” Courfeyrac added. “I mean, you remember last year when he got the stomach flu but didn’t want to miss lecture, so he sat in the back corner of the room with a trash bin beside him.” 

Joly breathed out a low laugh. “That was absolutely disgusting, but I’ll be damned if he missed a single word the professor said.” 

“Do you think I could seduce him into resting?” Grantaire asked, voice hopeful, but the chorus of “no’s” that followed had him draping his arm across his eyes with a groan. He could feel himself drifting, but his phone suddenly ringing had him shooting up into a sitting position with a frown. 

He had assigned each person a ringtone, and the song blaring from his phone was Enjolras’s. Grantaire’s frown deepened when he saw the time above Enjolras’s flashing name. Enjolras still had an hour and a half of lecture. 

“Enj? Are you okay?” Grantaire asked, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he gathered his things. 

_“Um, Grantaire?”_

Grantaire froze as Marius’s voice sounded from the phone. He briefly pulled the phone away, making sure that he hadn’t mistaken who was calling. “Marius? Where’s Enjolras?” 

His friends stared at him with varying looks of concern and confusion as Grantaire slowly got to his feet. 

_“Um, well, he kind of fainted when he was presenting his thesis proposal.”_

Grantaire’s stomach dropped. His grip tightened around the small device. “I’m on my way,” he answered before hanging up. 

“H-he passed out,” Grantaire told his friends with a shaky voice. His heart was hammering against his chest as the adrenaline began to kick in full gear. “I’ve gotta go,” he added right before bolting towards the school building. 

*****

Grantaire slammed the door to Enjolras’s classroom open. His chest was heaving, struggling to catch a breath, and his eyes went wide when they zeroed in on Enjolras sitting on the floor with his professor and Marius hovering over him. 

“Enjolras,” he breathed out before closing the distance between the two. He crouched down beside his boyfriend, noting how Enjolras was shivering despite the sweat coating his face. 

He placed a shaking hand against Enjolras’s cheek, only to quickly pull it away for the heat was borderline unbearable. “Shit,” he breathed out. “You need a hospital.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

Grantaire snapped his head towards the doorway to see Combeferre walking in. 

“He’s burning,” Grantaire pressed as Combeferre crouched down in front of Enjolras. “He passed out, Ferre! He needs a hospital!” 

Combeferre examined Enjolras for a few seconds before getting to his feet. “Just take him home and get him to bed. He’ll live.” 

Grantaire watched with furrowed brows as Combeferre turned to talk with Marius about what happened. 

“H-he’s right, R.” 

Grantaire snapped his attention back to Enjolras, who was shivering hard against him. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’s shoulders. “Are you sure?” He asked, worry evident in his tone. He didn’t like this. Enjolras was practically boiling, yet he was shivering as if he were freezing. 

Enjolras nodded against Grantaire’s neck. 

Grantaire wanted to protest, but Combeferre came back over. 

“Really, Grantaire, he will be fine with rest and some medicine for that fever.” 

Grantaire slowly helped Enjolras to his feet, grip tightening around Enjolras’s waist as he started to sway. “You’re absolutely sure?” He asked, eyeing Combeferre with narrow eyes. 

“Yes. This isn’t the first time this has happened– won’t be the last. I’ll go get my car.” 

Grantaire breathed out a low sigh as Combeferre walked out. Now that he could see that Enjolras was alive at least, he could feel the adrenaline wearing off. “You ready to go home?” He asked softly. 

Enjolras nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice too wrecked to speak any louder. 

“Hey,” Grantaire said as he started leading them out of the room. “It’s fine. I just want you to feel better.” 

“Should’ve listened to you,” Enjolras rasped out. 

“Don’t worry about that now, Enj,” Grantaire said, stopping long enough to drape his jacket across Enjolras’s shoulders. “Just focus on getting better for me, okay?” 

“Kay.” 

Grantaire didn’t like how weak and tired Enjolras sounded, but at least his boyfriend was finally going to get his overdue rest. He would worry about lecturing Enjolras about his health when the boy wasn’t falling asleep on his feet. For now, his sole focus was getting Enjolras to bed. 


	3. Sick Enjolras/Combeferre/Courfeyrac Bromance

Enjolras was the first down, not to anyone’s surprise. The boy worked harder than anyone, and he often neglected his well-being in favor of getting his work done. It had started with a small case of the sniffles, but as the day progressed, he had grown steadily worse, not that he would ever admit it out loud. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were forced to tag team when it came to assessing how bad off Enjolras was.

In a rare moment when Enjolras was taking what he called a “cat nap,” Courfeyrac and Combeferre snuck into his bedroom. Courfeyrac carefully climbed onto the bed, but despite his caution, he couldn’t win against Enjolras’s light sleeping.

“What?” Enjolras rasped out, voice thick with sleep.

Courfeyrac eyed Combeferre with raised brows, and Combeferre responded in the only way he knew how for this pending situation. “Pin him.”

Courfeyrac acted fast, knowing that it wouldn’t take Enjolras’s tired mind long to catch up to what was about to happen. He maneuvered around until he was straddling Enjolras, pinning his arms above his head.

“Dammit, Courf!” Enjolras struggled against Courfeyrac’s hold, but his limbs felt like lead.

“He’s burning,” Courfeyrac muttered, voice laced with concern. “I can feel the heat radiating off him.”

Combeferre, thankful that he had decided on an ear thermometer for their apartment, shoved the thermometer into Enjolras’s ear, ignoring Enjolras’s yelp of pain.

“For the hundredth time, I’m fine,” Enjolras snapped.

“We will let the numbers decide that,” Combeferre said just as the thermometer beeped. He stared hard at the reading with a frown– 102.8.

“I need you to tell me how you really feel,” Combeferre said, adopting his doctor tone in an instant.

Courfeyrac frowned at this. If Combeferre was shifting into doctor mode, then it must be bad. He rolled off of Enjolras and onto the other side of the bed. He sat up on his knees, gnawing lightly at his lower lip as he watched Enjolras struggle into a sitting position.

Enjolras sighed, rubbing at his wrists. “I really am fi–”

“Enjolras.”

Enjolras visibly winced at Combeferre’s tone. He dropped his gaze to his hands. “Cold. Tired. Head hurts,” he paused, thinking, “a lot. My body feels really heavy.”

Courfeyrac crawled towards Enjolras, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s trembling frame. He pressed a small kiss atop Enjolras’s head.

“Hmm, must be a strain that wasn’t covered with the flu shot,” Combeferre announced, brushing his hand lightly against Enjolras’s cheek. “You need rest,” he added softly.

Courfeyrac nodded in agreement against Enjolras’s neck, but Enjolras wasn’t having it. “I can’t,” he said. “I have too much work.”

“Let me tell you your options,” Combeferre started firmly, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms. “You can rest here and let us take care of you, or I can have a bed prepared for you at the hospital. Take your pick.”

Enjolras groaned. “Fine,” he mumbled, allowing Courfeyrac to ease him back down against his pillows. “Can I have my laptop at least?”

“When your fever lowers,” Combeferre said while gesturing for Courfeyrac to get off the bed. “Right now, you can go back to sleep.”

Enjolras wanted to protest, but he could feel sleep tugging at all corners. He only nodded in reply, eyes slipping closed as his breathing evened out.

“What now?” Courfeyrac whispered.

“Go wet a cloth with cool water for his forehead. I’m going to sort through our medicine.”

*****

Courfeyrac smoothed a new, damp cloth over Combeferre’s forehead. It had only taken a day until Combeferre went down, more gracefully and willingly than Enjolras. It made sense considering how much time Combeferre had spent watching over Enjolras in the last twenty-four hours, enduring Enjolras coughing and sneezing all over him.

Combeferre had told Courfeyrac when he started feeling unwell, and Courfeyrac had quickly ushered him into his bedroom. While Combeferre wasn’t nearly as bad off as Enjolras, only sporting a fever of 101.4, he was still sick with no doubt Enjolras’s flu.

“You’re doing very well”, Combeferre muttered, voice barely audible thanks to the hours spent coughing.

Courfeyrac’s lips pulled up into a small grin, but the smile never reached his eyes. He was desperately worried for his two friends. In the time since Combeferre had gone to rest, Enjolras’s fever had spiked twice, and despite doing everything Combeferre said, Courfeyrac still felt useless.

“Thanks,” he answered, leaning back in the chair he had moved beside Combeferre’s bed.

“Are you feeling alright?” Combeferre asked, not liking Courfeyrac’s somber demeanor one bit.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac answered, plastering on a wide smile. In all honesty, he felt dreadful. His body ached, and no amount of ibuprofen seemed to remedy it. He had checked the apartment thermostat four different times within the last two hours because he just could not get warm– it felt as if ice was freezing over his bones. His head throbbed mercifully, making it hard to concentrate, and his throat felt as if he were swallowing glass.

But, years of hanging with Jehan had taught him how to act. So, he reassured both Combeferre and Enjolras, who managed to ask when he was lucid enough, that he was perfectly fine.

“If you’re sure,” Combeferre muttered, eyelids growing heavy.

“I’m sure, Ferre,” Courfeyrac said, voice light yet confident. “Just rest. You can count on me.”

Courfeyrac watched Combeferre drift off to sleep. As soon as he was sure Combeferre wasn’t about to wake back up, he dropped the act, rubbing at his temples with trembling hands.

He stood after a few minutes on shaking legs and crept out of Combeferre’s bedroom. The living room lights did nothing for his pounding head, and he staggered towards the main light switch; however, the room started to spin, and he was forced to stop and close his eyes. A wave of heat washed over him, prickling uncomfortably across his skin, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t calm his racing heart.

Opening his eyes proved to be the wrong idea. Black circles danced across his vision, and his knees began to buckle. He briefly thought about Enjolras and Combeferre before everything went black.

*****

“-erre! Combeferre!!”

Combeferre’s eyes snapped open, and he blinked the fuzziness away to see Enjolras hovering over him– eyes wide and intense.

He shot up despite his limbs protesting. “What? What’s wrong?” He questioned while coughing, hand fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses.

“Courf,” Enjolras breathed out, gesturing frantically towards the living room. “I got up when he didn’t come to my calls and found him passed out.”

Combeferre was out of the bed in seconds, bolting towards the living room with Enjolras hot on his heels. He rushed towards Courfeyrac’s limp form, gently rolling him onto his back, and he cursed at the sight. Courfeyrac was deathly pale save the blood red flush spread across his cheeks. His breathing was ragged, and his brows were furrowed as if in pain.

Combeferre pushed Courfeyrac’s unruly bangs away, pressing his palm against the brunet’s forehead. “Jesus,” he muttered, hand dropping down to Courfeyrac’s wrist to check his pulse. “Get the thermometer,” he told Enjolras, eyes never leaving Courfeyrac.

Enjolras fought against the dizziness coating his vision as he raced to retrieve the thermometer. He felt nausea swirling around in his stomach, but he knew it was stemmed from anxiety. He snatched the thermometer from his bedside table and turned to run back into the living room.

“Here,” he said, crouching down beside Combeferre. He handed Combeferre the thermometer. “He’s going to be okay, right?” He asked, grabbing one of Courfeyrac’s hands with both of his.

Combeferre watched the numbers on the thermometer climb until they stopped at 104.6. “We need to get his fever down now,” Combeferre said firmly. He briefly thought about calling an ambulance but decided against it. He was a doctor after all– he knew what he could do to help. “Help me get him to the bathroom.”

Together, Enjolras and Combeferre, running solely on adrenaline, carried Courfeyrac’s limp body to the bathroom, and they worked quickly to strip him down.

“Fill the tub with luke-warm water,” Combeferre instructed Enjolras before turning his attention towards getting Courfeyrac to wake up. “Courf,” he started, patting the brunet’s cheek a few times. “Courfeyrac, can you hear me?” He pat Courfeyrac’s cheek harder, breathing out a sigh of relief when Courfeyrac groaned under his touch.

“Wha?”

“Hey, shhh.” Combeferre brushed his thumb up and down Courfeyrac’s cheek. “You’re okay. We are going to take care of you.”

Enjolras turned the tap off then moved to kneel beside Courfeyrac. “Hey, Courf,” he said, shooting the brunet a soft smile. “We’ve got to get you in the tub to get your fever down, okay?”

“Fever?” Courfeyrac blinked slowly, trying desperately to get his eyes to focus on his two friends. He didn’t have a fever– they did.

“Yeah,” Combeferre said gently. “You’ve got yourself a pretty nasty one, but it’s going to be okay.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes darted between the two blurry boys in front of him. He couldn’t follow the conversation– he didn’t understand.

“Let’s get him in,” Combeferre said as he got to his feet. Enjolras nodded, and together, the two helped Courfeyrac into the tub.

“W-why?? C-cold?”

Enjolras’s hand hovered above the tap, but Combeferre shook his head. “We can’t,” he told Enjolras.

Enjolras sighed, sitting down onto the closed toilet seat. He dropped his face into his hands as Combeferre smoothed a damp cloth over Courfeyrac’s bare back and chest.

“I know it’s cold,” Combeferre said softly as Courfeyrac looked up at him with pleading eyes. “But I promise this will help.”

“I’m s-supposed to be t-taking care of y-you.”

Enjolras looked up. “It’s our turn to tend to you,” he said, smiling softly at Courfeyrac’s nod of response.

After twenty minutes, Combeferre requested the thermometer once more. Enjolras went to get it, much slower than last time as his energy was rapidly depleting. He handed it to Combeferre, and the two stared hard as the numbers climbed, stopping at 102.8.

“We can work with this,” Combeferre said. The numbers weren’t great, but they were low enough to rule out the need for a hospital. He and Enjolras helped Courfeyrac out of the tub. Enjolras wrapped a towel around the brunet’s shivering form, rubbing up and down his arms as Combeferre left to get some clean clothes.

“I think I can manage changing on my own,” Courfeyrac said with a stronger voice as he took the clothes from Combeferre. He sighed when his two friends appeared reluctant to leave. “Really, I’ll only be a minute. I’ve got this.”

Combeferre and Enjolras stepped outside, closing the door behind them, and that was it for Enjolras. He slid down against the wall, cupping his face with shaking hands and coughing harshly. 

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked. “Are you okay?”

Enjolras moved his hands away from his face to reveal his wide, welling eyes. “No,” he said, voice shaking. “I thought, shit, Ferre. I thought he was dead.”

Combeferre pulled Enjolras to his feet and wrapped his arms around the trembling boy, stroking his hair as Enjolras let out a strangled sob against his neck. Heat was still rolling off Enjolras in waves, and Combeferre was suddenly reminded of his own ailments.

“He’s fine, Enj.” Combeferre soothed just as Courfeyrac opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac mumbled, tears slipping from his own eyes. “I thought I was fine. I wanted to take care–” His words trailed off as Enjolras all but lunged at him.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras whispered, clutching at Courfeyrac like a lifeline. He really had thought that Courfeyrac was dead when he found the brunet crumpled on the floor unresponsive. It was easily the scariest moment of his life, but he felt worlds better seeing Courfeyrac awake and responsive. 

“We are all fine,” Combeferre said, capturing his friends’ attention. He motioned to the living room. “How about we make ourselves a nice little nest on the couch and take care of each other?”

Courfeyrac nodded, smiling wide, and the three slowly but surely covered the couch with blankets and pillows. 

Combeferre helped the two get comfortable before going to retrieve medicine for all three of them. He still felt terrible, and he knew that Courfeyrac and Enjolras felt the same, but he knew they could pull through together. However, he made a mental reminder to call Joly or, hell, even Grantaire if this ever happened again.


	4. Sick R in a Cheap Apartment, and Annoyed E Going to Check on Him

When Grantaire had missed last week’s meeting, Enjolras hadn’t given it a second thought. Grantaire rarely participated in the discussion, only chiming in occasionally with a comment that completely contradicted what Enjolras was saying. Majority of the time, he would occupy the table farthest away from Enjolras, sitting hunched over a beer while doodling in his sketch pad.

Enjolras had almost felt relieved at Grantaire’s absence; however, Grantaire missing again the following week struck a different chord inside him. He was no doubt annoyed, but there was something else– something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Where is Grantaire?” He asked at the start of the meeting, but he was met with varying looks of surprise that had him gesturing towards the empty back table with a sigh. “He was missing last week as well.”

“You noticed?” Jehan asked, raising his brows in surprise.

Enjolras scoffed. “Of course I noticed,” he said quickly with a hint of offense.

Jehan laughed. “I’ll have to tell him that when he’s better.”

Enjolras frowned, crossing his arms. “He’s unwell?”

“Just a cold he can’t seem to shake.”

Enjolras nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, working in overtime. Despite Jehan’s easy tone, something felt off. His chest felt tight, and his stomach was twisting in knots. He knew now that he was downright worried.

“Combeferre,” he started as he began to gather his things. “Can you lead today’s meeting?”

“Of course,” Combeferre started, watching with raised brows as Enjolras whipped out his phone. “But, why?”

Enjolras thumbed to his messages with Grantaire, shooting the brunet a quick text to say he was going over before meeting Combeferre’s questioning eyes. “I’m going to check on Grantaire.”

“That’s new,” Courfeyrac said through a laugh, leaning forward and resting his elbows atop the table he was sharing with Combeferre. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

Enjolras shrugged into his coat, ignoring Courfeyrac’s comment. Of course he cared– he cared about all members of the Les Amis. Perhaps he didn’t show it as much with Grantaire, but he couldn’t help it when the brunet was constantly getting under his skin. He reached into his pocket, fingers curling around his car keys. “I just want to see what’s going on.”

“You shouldn’t bother him,” Combeferre tried, but Enjolras was already headed towards the door.

Enjolras faintly heard Bahorel shout “what the fuck?”, but he ignored it, shoving the doors open and wincing as the bitter wind whipped against his face.

*****

Enjolras pulled into an empty parking spot outside of Grantaire’s apartment building. The building was old and wooden, and it had three sets of stair cases outside, leading to the upper floors. It looked more like a cheap motel than anything, but Grantaire chose it because it worked best financial wise while he was attending art school.

Enjolras hopped out of his car and made his way to stair case 3. He gripped the shaking banner as he started the climb up. Each step creaked loudly against his weight, and he found himself silently cursing Grantaire for choosing an apartment on the third floor.

He breathed out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding as he reached the top. He gave the stairs a hesitant glance before moving until he was standing in front of Grantaire’s door. There were jagged pieces of wood sticking out at all angles, and Enjolras searched until he found a spot that seemed safe to knock on.

“Grantaire,” he called out, rapping his knuckles loudly against the wooden door, but he was met with silence. He was just contemplating calling the brunet when a loud thud followed by shuffling noises sounded from inside the apartment. He took a step back just as the door swung open.

Enjolras’s eyes went wide. Grantaire was wrapped in a blanket, shivering hard and leaning against the door frame as if standing upright were a challenge. His cheeks were flushed bright red, a stark contrast against his washed out skin. His bangs were plastered to his sweat-slick forehead, and his eyes were sunken in and bloodshot.

“E,” Grantaire rasped out before falling into a coughing fit. He quickly pulled his blanket up until it was covering his mouth, coughing harshly into the itchy fabric until his eyes started to water.

Enjolras quickly wrapped an arm around Grantaire’s shaking shoulders, supporting most of the brunet’s weight as he lead them inside, closing the door with his foot. He could feel the heat radiating off of Grantaire despite his intense shivering, and the fact that Grantaire hadn’t tried to shove him away was incredibly worrying.

Enjolras walked Grantaire over to his ratty couch, easing the trembling brunet down gently. He then looked around, rubbing up and down his arms to try and fend of the biting chill seeping in through his coat.

“S-sorry,” Grantaire muttered as he watched Enjolras rub his arms. “Heat’s out.”

Enjolras moved towards the thermostat, frowning at the chilly temperature before moving back to Grantaire, crouching in front of him. He reached his hand out, brushing Grantaire’s bangs away and pressing his palm against his forehead.

“Jesus, R,” he breathed out, heart racing. “You’re burning up. I thought Jehan said this was just a cold?”

“W-was,” Grantaire replied weakly, teeth clacking together as he shivered. “G-got worse.” He wrapped the blanket tighter around him with trembling hands.

Enjolras got to his feet, crossing his arms as he contemplated what to do. He couldn’t leave Grantaire here– that was practically a death sentence at this point. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Grantaire, who had closed his eyes, blinked up tiredly at Enjolras. “No, I’ll b-be fine.”

Enjolras could almost laugh at how absurd that sounded when accompanied with Grantaire’s wrecked voice. Biting down on his lower lip, he glanced around as if the bare apartment held the answers he needed.

“Why are y-you here?”

Enjolras snapped his attention back to Grantaire. What was he supposed to say to that? “Does that matter? It’s a good thing I came since you look as if you have one foot in the grave already.”

Grantaire coughed. “D-did you d-draw the short s-straw?”

“What?” Enjolras tilted his head at the brunet.

Grantaire shivered harder. “D-did some-someone make you c-come here?”

Enjolras looked down at his hands, feeling suddenly incredibly guilty for treating Grantaire in a way that had the brunet assuming the worst about him. “No,” he said, voice soft. “I was worried about you.”

If Grantaire wasn’t shivering so hard, he would have froze at Enjolras’s words. “R-really?”

Enjolras crouched down once more, placing his hands atop Grantaire’s covered knees. “Very much so.” He paused briefly, mind running a mile a minute. “I’m going to take you back to my apartment, okay?’

“Enj, I can’t–”

Enjolras held his hand up, stopping Grantaire. “You cannot stay here, Grantaire. You’ll keep getting worse. My apartment is warm, and I can take care of you.”

Grantaire studied Enjolras’s face to the best of his abilities. “Why?” He whispered.

“I want to,” Enjolras answered, leaning forward to brush his thumb lightly across Grantaire’s cheek. “I really do.”

“Y-you miss me that m-much at the meetings?” Grantaire asked with a touch of amusement in his voice.

Enjolras laughed, helping Grantaire stand. “I don’t know what to do when everyone just always agrees with me.”

Supporting majority of Grantaire’s weight, he helped him out of the apartment, taking the steps down to the parking lot as slow and careful as possible. Grantaire had to stop to cough quite a bit, and the wind had him shivering even harder. His brows were knit as if in pain, and once the two reached the bottom of the stairs, Enjolras hurried them over to his car, desperate to get Grantaire out of the wind.

*****

Even though swaddled in almost every blanket Enjolras owned and filled up on water and medicine, Grantaire was still shaking like a leaf. Enjolras frowned at the trembling mass on his bed.

“What can I do?” He asked, clearly out of his element here. But, the discomfort was written across Grantaire’s face, and he wanted to do whatever he could to help.

“C-can’t get w-warm,” Grantaire breathed out between chattering teeth.

Enjolras bit down on his bottom lip. His mind told him that it was the fever, which was way higher than he had expected when he checked. But, still, he hated seeing Grantaire so cold and miserable. It was very unlike him– very out of character. He glanced around the room, desperately wracking his mind for an answer.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He slipped his shoes off before moving towards the other side of the bed. He started peeling back covers, ignoring Grantaire’s weak protests, until he had them all moved back. He then climbed in, pressing his chest against Grantaire’s back and covering both of them with the mass of blankets.

“Y-you don’t have t-to. You’ll g-get sick.” Grantaire said despite leaning into Enjolras’s warmth.

“Shhh.” Enjolras pushed himself as close to Grantaire as possible. “I don’t mind.”

(And if he got sick a few days later, he stuck to his word, not minding one bit.)


	5. E Trying to Take Care of Sick R, Ferre, and Courf

Enjolras liked to think that he excelled at many things. He had a bright mind and a strong willingness to learn. He was breezing through university with high marks, and on the side, he was holding weekly club meetings for three different clubs. Things just came easy for him, so when all three of his roommates fell ill around the same time, he figured he would be able to handle it with poise and grace.

Boy was he wrong.

Combeferre had been first, not to anyone’s surprise considering he was working at the school clinic during the peak of flu season. Luckily for Enjolras, Combeferre took care of himself well. The second he started feeling off, he called out of work, assuming the worst, and he was right. Two days in and he was running a fever of 100.5 and coughing up a lung every five minutes.

Courfeyrac had taken to waiting on Combeferre hand and foot despite Combeferre’s protests of contagion, and sure enough, the following day had Courfeyrac moaning pitifully in bed. Enjolras had three papers that needed to be typed, but he had to put them aside for now. He was on sick duty since Grantaire was borderline a wreck thanks to a massive art piece that was going to be presented to a prestigious art gallery. He had holed himself up in his room and told Enjolras not to bother him unless someone was dying.

That left Enjolras with Combeferre, who was currently resting, and Courfeyrac, whose whines could be heard a mile away.

He went to Courfeyrac’s room first, anything to stop the whining. “What?” He asked, pushing the door open and flicking on the light.

“I’m cold,” Courfeyrac cried out, curling himself into a tight ball.

Enjolras moved towards the bed, slapping his hand rather forcefully onto Courfeyrac’s forehead. “It’s just the fever,” he said, annoyed.

“I know,” Courfeyrac said, drawing out the ‘o’. “But it’s making me really really cold.”

Enjolras sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you have to wait two more hours until you can have more medicine.”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac whined, dragging the name out. “Can you at least give me an extra blanket?”

Enjolras eyed the two blankets already piled on top of his friend wearily. “I’m not sure? Let me ask.” He left the room and made his way to Combeferre’s room. “Ferre?” He called out quietly as he pushed the door open.

“Hmm?”

Enjolras walked in, leaving the light off. Combeferre had been battling a pretty bad headache on and off all day, and the last thing Enjolras wanted to do was irritate it any further.

“How are you feeling?” He started, moving quietly towards the bed.

“Alright,” Combeferre answered, but his hoarse voice contradicted his statement. “How’s Courf?”

Enjolras frowned, making a mental note to bring more tea in next time he came. “He’s cold because of his fever. He already has his blanket and mine, but he’s asking for another.”

“Don’t,” Combeferre answered firmly despite his weak voice. “He’ll overheat.”

Enjolras nodded and made to leave the room to deliver the bad news to Courfeyrac.

“And R?”

Enjolras stopped, half way out the door. “What?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at Combeferre.

“How is he?”

“Fine?” Enjolras fully turned to face Combeferre. “He’s been working on his art piece. Why?”

“Has he eaten?”

Of course, Enjolras thought to himself. Here Combeferre was layed up with the flu, and he was worrying about everyone else. “I don’t know? He told me not to bother him.”

Combeferre sighed. “He’s just as bad as you when it comes to self-preservation. Go take him food.”

Enjolras frowned but nodded. He moved to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets until he found a few cans of soup. He figured he’d just go ahead and make a big pot of soup for everyone because that was a thing for sick people– according to Combeferre at least.

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips when he tasted the soup to find that it actually tasted decent. He turned the burner on low before pouring some soup into a bowl for Grantaire.

With the bowl of soup in hand, he made his way to Grantaire’s room, knocking hesitantly on the door. “Hey, I have food.” He was met with silence, so he tried again, but still, there was no answer. He tried the knob, finding the door unlocked.

“Hey,” he called out as he walked into the room. The only light was filtering from Grantaire’s work corner, and said boy was hunched over an easel with ear buds in.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and set the bowl of soup down on Grantaire’s bedside table. He stepped over clothes and art books until he was standing beside Grantaire, but when he opened his mouth to scold Grantaire for ignoring him, he found his words catching in his throat.

Grantaire was sweating yet he was shaking. His brows were furrowed and his cheeks were flushed a deep red.

Enjolras ripped an ear bud from Grantaire’s ear, causing the latter to jump. “You’re sick,” Enjolras said, voice accusing.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras with narrowed eyes. “Is someone dying?” He asked, clearly annoyed.

Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms. “No. But that doesn’t matter anymore because you’re sick.”

“I told you not to bother me unless someone was dying.”

Enjolras wanted to slap the idiot on the side of his head, but he took a few deep breaths, willing himself to remain calm. He knew that Grantaire was always extra snappy when sick– it was one of the things he and the brunet had in common.

“Go to bed,” Enjolras ordered firmly.

“This painting isn’t going to finish itself,” Grantaire replied, already turning back to his easel.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire attempted to still his trembling hands. He found himself feeling rather concerned because Grantaire was usually so still and so precise when painting. “Your lines are going to look terrible,” he said, and Grantaire responded by slamming the paint brush down on the easel.

“You think I don’t know this?” Grantaire snapped, staring daggers at Enjolras. “It’s been taking twice as long to do the simplest things because I can’t stop shaking.”

Enjolras frowned, wondering how long Grantaire had been like this. He brushed the back of his hand against Grantaire’s cheek just long enough to feel the heat before Grantaire turned his head away.

“Bed,” Enjolras pressed, already mentally planning on which medicine to bring in.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire tried, but Enjolras wasn’t having it. He grabbed Grantaire’s arm, yanking the brunet to his feet while minding to be cautious of the easel.

Grantaire moved to pull away, but the room started to tilt drastically. He would have toppled over his painting if it weren’t for Enjolras quickly steadying him.

“Jesus, R,” Enjolras started, winding his arm around Grantaire’s waist. “You’re a wreck.”

Grantaire opted to ignore Enjolras. Instead, he put all of his focus towards making it to his bed without passing out. He wasn’t sure he would have made it if it weren’t for Enjolras’s steady hold on him.

Once Enjolras had Grantaire settled, he left to retrieve the thermometer. Grantaire was defiant at first, claiming that this was unnecessary, but Enjolras threatened to shove the damn thermometer down his throat if he didn’t comply.

“Well?” Grantaire asked just as Enjolras pulled the thermometer from his mouth. “What’s the verdict? Am I dying or what?”

Enjolras eyed the reading with wide eyes- 103.5. That couldn’t be right, could it? He pressed his palm against Grantaire’s forehead once more as if he could gauge his temperature by touch alone.

“Shit, am I actually dying?” Grantaire tried again, voice light yet concerned. “Can you tell Jehan to finish my piece for me? It has to be Jehan, not Courf. I know Courf will insist he do it, but it has to be Jehan.”

Enjolras reset the thermometer, and Grantaire wordlessly opened his mouth. The two waited in silence until the soft beeping sounded. Enjolras all but ripped the thermometer from Grantaire’s mouth and frowned. The reading was the same.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, grip tight around the thermometer. He turned on his heel and quickly left the room, making his way to Combeferre’s room.

“Combeferre,” he said breathlessly as he approached Combeferre’s bed. “Grantaire’s dying!”

Combeferre shot up, already half out of the bed when Enjolras thrust the thermometer at his face. He blinked at the reading before sighing. “No, he’s not.” He said, moving until he was fully back in bed.

“But that’s really high, right?” Enjolras asked, panicked. “I mean he seems okay, but this is too high!”

Combeferre draped an arm over his eyes– headache coming back full force. “It is high,” he muttered. “But he’ll be fine with medicine and rest.”

Enjolras stared at his friend in disbelief. He didn’t understand how Combeferre wasn’t concerned. The highest fever between Combeferre and Courfeyrac so far had been 101.6. Grantaire had them beat by a lot. He needed a hospital!

“Combeferre-”

“Enj,” Combeferre countered, cutting Enjolras off. He moved his arm away from his eyes. “He’ll be fine. Just keep doing what your doing, and we will all be fine.”

Enjolras nodded despite not feeling any better. He asked Combeferre if he needed anything, and when Combeferre told him no and to go tend to Courfeyrac and Grantaire, he stumbled out of the room, mind in overdrive. He needed to get Grantaire to eat then get him water and medicine, he needed to try and get Courfeyrac to eat. He needed to keep an eye on Combeferre’s headache.

He breathed out a shaky sigh and got to work.

*****

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and the worried pit inside Enjolras’s stomach only continued to grow.

Grantaire’s fever spiked twice, and both times, Enjolras considered calling an ambulance. He gave him medicine and kept him hydrated, but nothing seemed to work, and Grantaire seemed to be in a lot of pain, groaning and clutching at his head.

Courfeyrac became incredibly subdued when Enjolras told him he couldn’t have a third blanket. He was still shivering hard, and it made Enjolras’s heart clench. He wanted nothing more than to take Courfeyrac’s ailments away, but he couldn’t. He could only give medicine and water and hope for the best.

Combeferre’s headache exploded into a full-blown migraine, and despite trying to work through it, it was clearly bothering him terribly, and Enjolras had no idea what to do.

Enjolras spent hours upon hours running between the three bedrooms, smoothing cool, damp cloths over Grantaire’s burning forehead, climbing into bed with Courfeyrac to offer a brief bout of body heat for the shivering boy, and ensuring that absolutely no light get into Combeferre’s room.

He administered medicine when needed, but it just seemed like nothing was working at this point. He desperately wanted to consult Combeferre about it, but he didn’t want to bother him. He texted Joly a few times, but Joly only told him “these things take time.”

After another round of checking on his friends, Enjolras flopped down against the couch. It was just after two a.m., and he was so worried that he felt physically ill. His chest felt tight and constricted, and his stomach was flipping with anxiety. He couldn’t do this– he had no idea what he was doing. Why wasn’t anyone getting better? How did Combeferre and Joly deal with this on a daily basis at the school clinic?

A blinding pain suddenly burst behind his eyes, and he squeezed them shut with a groan. He could feel sleep tugging at him, and despite wanting to fight it, he nodded off.

*****

“Is he okay?”

Enjolras was pulled from his sleep by a cool hand pressing against his forehead.

“He’s definitely got a fever. Looks like the flu finally caught up to him.”

He pried his eyes open, blinking away the blurring vision to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac staring down at him with worried eyes. “Shit,” he rasped out, moving to sit up, but Combeferre gently pushed him back down.

“You’re ill, Enj.” Combeferre said, voice soft.

“I have to,” Enjolras started, pausing to cough. “I have to– you guys are the sick ones.” He couldn’t get his mind to process words. Why couldn’t he get his mind to process words?

“You did well,” Combeferre said, brushing his hand against Enjolras’s cheek. “My migraine is gone, and Courfeyrac’s fever broke about an hour ago.”

“R,” Enjolras whispered, motioning weakly towards Grantaire’s bedroom.

“He’s getting there,” Combeferre answered. “He’s worried about you,” he added as an after thought.

Enjolras glanced towards Grantaire’s room with tired eyes. He wanted to say more, but he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

“Just rest, Enj. We’ve got it covered now.”

Enjolras nodded weakly, drifting off to sleep once more.


	6. Sequel to E Trying To Take Care of Sick R, Ferre, and Courf

Enjolras was startled awake by a nagging pain flaring across his stomach. He whimpered weakly, rolling onto his side and drawing his knees up to his chest as strong shivers wracked his body. It was then that he realized he wasn’t on the couch anymore, but he had no recollection of moving to his bed.

His room was dark and quiet, and the bedside table clock read 1:04 a.m. He blinked at the time– his tired mind slowly processing that he’s been asleep for almost a day. Though, it didn’t feel like it. He felt heavy and exhausted, but he couldn’t get back to sleep. The pain in his stomach was too prominent; it couldn’t be ignored.

A sudden lurch in his stomach had him stumbling out of bed and to the bathroom as quickly as his dizzy mind would allow. He just managed to close the door before falling to his knees in front of the toilet. The pain in his stomach was almost unbearable, and he lifted the toilet seat lid with only seconds to spare until he was heaving into the toilet.

This went on for minutes on end, with not much coming up because he hadn’t eaten a solid meal since the day before yesterday. He heard the bathroom door open in between gagging, and seconds later, he felt warm hands brushing his hair back from his face and tying it up into a messy bun resting just above the back of his neck.

He then heard whoever had come in sit down on the edge of the bathtub beside him just as his stomach lurched once more. He gripped the toilet seat tightly, knuckles frighteningly white, as he continued to heave into the toilet.

After a few more minutes, his stomach finally settled well enough. He figured this wouldn’t be the last of it, but for right now, he was done. His knees hurt, and his whole body trembled violently as he reached up with a shaking hand to flush the toilet.

“Done?”

Enjolras snapped his gaze towards the raspy voice, and he took in Grantaire’s appearance with a quiet gasp. “R,” he breathed out, shifting around until he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. He frowned at Grantaire’s poor pallor. “You look like hell.”

“Likewise,” Grantaire muttered back as he stood on trembling legs to fill a cup of water for Enjolras. “Drink,” he said, and Enjolras wordlessly took the cup.

“Small, slow sips,” Grantaire added as he moved back to the edge of the tub, and Enjolras nodded, taking a small sip then breathing out a low sigh as the blessedly cool water eased his aching throat.

“Where are Combeferre and Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked after a few moments.

“Resting.”

Enjolras nodded. He figured that even though the two were through the worst of this flu, they were probably still tired. He glanced at Grantaire once more, noting how the brunet was shivering slightly.

“You should go back to bed,” Enjolras said, a hint of concern coloring his voice.

Grantaire stared at him with tired eyes. “I’m not going to leave you in here by yourself.”

Enjolras sighed, shaking his head. “I’m fine now. I’m just going to go back to bed.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

Enjolras breathed out a low, disbelieving laugh. “I’ll be fine, R. I can make it on my own.”

Grantaire tilted his head and motioned for Enjolras to stand. “Go ahead then.”

Enjolras huffed. He quickly got to his feet and was just about to shoot Grantaire a victory smile when the room started to tilt drastically. “Oh,” was all he managed out as he started falling, only to collapse against Grantaire’s overly-warm chest.

“I can make it on my own, my ass,” Grantaire grumbled, winding an arm around Enjolras’s waist.

Enjolras wanted to reply, but his head was throbbing violently. He wordlessly allowed Grantaire to lead him back into bed.

He fell back against his pillows and quickly pulled the blankets up over his shivering body. He was so very cold suddenly. He blinked tiredly at Grantaire, who was staring down at him with a frown.

Grantaire eased Enjolras up, and Enjolras was about to question what the brunet was doing when he felt his hair falling from the bun and spilling across his shoulders. He shot Grantaire a small nod of thanks, and when Grantaire cupped his cheek, he leaned into the brunet’s touch, eyelids already drooping closed.

He heard Grantaire leave the room, and faint talking sounded from the hallway before his bedroom door opened once more.

He pried his eyes open as a cool hand pressed against his forehead. Combeferre’s worried face came into view, and he figured he should say something to reassure Combeferre that he was fine, but his eyes slid closed instead, and he drifted off to sleep once more.

*****

When Enjolras came to, there was light filtering in through his window. He glanced at the bedside table clock, taking in the 8:27 a.m. time with a confused frown. He raised a hand to his pounding head, fingers brushing against a cool, damp cloth smoothed across his forehead.

“You’re awake.”

He dropped his hand, eyes shifting to Combeferre sitting in a chair beside his bed. He could only nod in response, throat incredibly sore.

“Thank god,” Combeferre breathed out, voice filled with relief.

Enjolras frowned, shooting Combeferre a questioning stare.

“Grantaire told me you had thrown up and that you were burning. When I came in here to check, you had a fever pushing 105 degrees.”

Well, Enjolras thought, that sounded terrible and explained why his head was throbbing.

“You had us really worried.” Combeferre leaned forward, grasping one of Enjolras’s hands. “You really don’t do things halfway, do you?”

Enjolras smiled weakly at Combeferre, but his smile quickly dropped into a frown, and he propped himself up on his elbows despite his aching limbs. “Courf? R? How are they?” He rasped out, tone colored with concern.

Combeferre breathed out a low laugh. “Courfeyrac’s fine. He’s already up and eating. You know he bounces back fast, and Grantaire’s doing well enough. He came out to watch TV with Courfeyrac for a bit, and the two started bickering about his painting, so I’d say he’s feeling better.”

Enjolras breathed out a sigh of relief, falling back against his pillows with a soft smile. “Good,” he whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Go back to sleep, Enj. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Enjolras offered one, small nod before closing his eyes. He knew that his friends would take care of him now, and with that thought bouncing through his mind, he drifted off to sleep once more.


	7. Sick Combeferre and Panicking Enjolras

Law school was hard, draining even. Enjolras would come home exhausted to the apartment he shared with Combeferre. But, if such an award existed, Combeferre would easily be honored as “best roommate”. Combeferre always had dinner set out and ready when Enjolras got home, even on the days when Enjolras got home later thanks to mock trials.

Really, Enjolras didn’t know how Combeferre did it while working early morning shifts at the local hospital. Nevertheless, the man was a saint.

For Enjolras, today had been exceptionally tasking. The mock trial had been going in his team’s favor, and he was sure that they had the win in the bag; however, a new, sudden piece of evidence was thrown into the mix that forced everyone to take a step back and reevaluate. Enjolras had no choice but to request a recess for his team, something he’s never done before. He, Marius, and Courfeyrac had stepped into the recess room, an empty classroom, and hashed out all of their options. It was tough, and he was considerably panicked for majority of the recess, but when they got back in, they went in ready to win– and win they did, but just barely.

Enjolras was still working on handling crisis situations. He was a methodical planner who never left room for error. He always thought everything through carefully and considered all options, so when something out of the norm is thrown his way, he’s caught incredibly off guard. He couldn’t ever seem to “Go with the flow”, as Grantaire liked to say.

No. His days were always planned with careful precision, so when he got home to an unlocked, dark, seemingly empty apartment, he panicked.

The kitchen appeared untouched, yet, Combeferre’s work bag was lying on the table. Enjolras quickly searched the bag and found Combeferre’s phone, something said boy always had on him. That had to mean that Combeferre was home– or kidnapped. The door had been unlocked after all.

With his thumbs ready to dial the police, he started his search through the rest of the apartment. He found Combeferre’s bedroom door slightly ajar, and he nudged it open further with his toe, one hand held up to defend himself if necessary.

The room was dark except for the faint glow sneaking out from underneath the closed bathroom door. Enjolras crept towards the bathroom door, pausing in front of it. He hadn’t thought this far along. What if Combeferre was murdered? What if the murderer was in there right now? What if–

His thoughts drew to a halt at the sudden gagging sound coming from inside the bathroom. The murder possibilities flitting through his mind were replaced with dying ones. What if Combeferre was dying right this second? What if he opened the door and found Combeferre dead in a pool of his own vomit?

He could feel his heart hammering against his chest, and his palms felt hot and clammy. He was terrified, but he had to know.

“Ferre?” He called out cautiously as he rapped his knuckles against the door, but instead of a verbal response, he was met with a groan followed by another gag.

Enough was enough. Enjolras twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, gasping at the sight. Combeferre was hunched over the toilet seat, trembling hard and gripping the porcelain as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Fuck,” he whispered breathlessly as he quickly closed the distance between he and Combeferre.

“Don’t,” Combeferre called out weakly when Enjolras went to place a hand on his back.

“Ferre? What’s wrong?” Enjolras dropped his hand to his side and took a step back.

“Sick. Stomach flu. Don’t want you to get it too.”

Enjolras frowned. Combeferre sounded absolutely miserable. “Okay,” he said, more to himself. “Okay, I’ll- I’ll get you water. Is that what you need? Water? You’re probably dehydrated, right?”

The words were spilling off his tongue. He could feel whatever ounce of composure he had remaining fade away. Combeferre was sick, and he had no idea what to do– this wasn’t his element.

He raced to the kitchen for a cup before racing back to the bathroom, not wanting to leave Combeferre alone for any second. He filled the cup up with cold tap water then handed it to Combeferre, frown deepening when Combeferre only took one small sip before setting the cup aside.

“You should drink more,” he said, daring to take a step closer.

“Can’t,” Combeferre muttered, pressing his cheek against the cool porcelain.

Enjolras crouched down until he was eye level with Combeferre. He still kept a careful distance, but he wanted to really get a good look at his friend. And, he didn’t like at all what he saw. Combeferre was still shivering like mad and had one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. His face was pale and scrunched up, and his eyes were squeezed shut– glasses severely crooked.

Enjolras reached forward to pluck the glasses off of Combeferre’s face, thinking it might make his friend a little more comfortable. However, his fingers brushed against Combeferre’s cheek, and he jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned.

“You’re boiling, Ferre. Is that normal? Should I get you medicine? I should get medicine, right? I can call Joly–”

Combeferre weakly held a hand up to stop Enjolras. “I know I have a fever. Yes, it’s normal. I can’t keep medicine down right now. And do not, for the love of God, do not call Joly. He’ll quarantine both of us in here.” He opened his eyes, blinking tiredly at Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded quickly, snatching Combeferre’s glasses before rocking back on his heels as he pondered what to do next. He just wasn’t good at this stuff like Combeferre was. He didn’t know how to help people when they were in pain. He was just about to ask when Combeferre’s eyes suddenly went wide.

“Ferre?” He asked, voice laced with concern, but he quickly snapped his mouth shut as Combeferre held up his hand once more before moving with just enough time over the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach.

Enjolras watched Combeferre’s body tense up. He crawled forward, placing a cautious hand on Combeferre’s back. When Combeferre didn’t request he move away, he started rubbing small, soothing circles across Combeferre’s tense, shaking back.

He thought back to a time a few years ago when he had gotten alcohol poisoning after a rough party with Grantaire and Eponine. Combeferre had rubbed his back then, and he remembered feeling as if that were the only thing keeping him grounded as he heaved into the toilet. He hoped that doing the same for Combeferre would initiate the same feelings.

After what felt like years to Enjolras, Combeferre finally stopped. He was gasping for breath, and he reached up to flush the toilet before collapsing against Enjolras, shaking hard from exertion.

“Do you feel better now?” Enjolras asked, winding his arm around Combeferre’s trembling shoulders.

Combeferre nodded, dropping his head against Enjolras’s shoulders and closing his eyes.

“What do you need?” Enjolras asked, voice quiet. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Again, Combeferre nodded, throat too sore to speak.

Slowly, Enjolras helped Combeferre stand, and he supported majority of Combeferre’s weight as he led him back into the bedroom and into bed.

He got Combeferre tucked in, and Combeferre fell asleep almost instantly. Enjolras stood and watched for a few minutes, contemplating what to do next. He stepped forward, bending down to press his palm against Combeferre’s forehead and finding it still incredibly hot to the touch.

He needed to cool him down, but how did he do that if Combeferre couldn’t stomach medicine?

Manually, his mind supplied. Do it manually.

Grabbing a hand towel from the linen closet, he ran it under cold water, wringing it out until it wasn’t dripping. He also filled a new cup up with water and stuck a bendy straw he managed to find in it. His mind told him that that would be easier on Combeferre so said boy wouldn’t have to sit up fully to take a drink.

When he got back to Combeferre’s bedroom, he set the cup on the bedside table before dragging a chair and a trashcan over to the side of Combeferre’s bed. He wanted to stay and watch over Combeferre, just as he knew Combeferre would do for him. And, he figured the trash can would be easier than getting up and struggling to the bathroom.

He gently sat down on the edge of the bed beside Combeferre and smoothed the damp hand towel across Combeferre’s forehead. Combeferre breathed out a sigh, and his expression relaxed significantly, which had Enjolras smiling because he managed to do something right.

He was just about to move to the chair when Combeferre weakly grabbed his wrist. “Ferre?”

“Thank you,” Combeferre breathed out, and Enjolras smiled softly at his friend, feeling worlds better about the whole situation.

“Of course,” he whispered.


	8. Combeferre and Enjolras Trapped in an Elevator, and Combeferre Panicking

Combeferre had been gliding through life with poise and grace, and that wasn’t necessarily something he tried hard on. He just possessed the ability to take each problem thrown his way calmly and coolly. He had the ability to step back and assess all aspects of a problem without letting his emotions take the lead.

This was why the Les Amis members were able to achieve so much with their meetings and rallies. Enjolras would take charge, proposing wild and passionate plans, and Combeferre would work behind the scenes to ensure the safest, most beneficial ways to act upon these plans.

They had a system, and Combeferre was the calm and reasonable part of the system. He had a knack at soothing people’s woes away with just words alone. Whenever someone was having a crisis, they would go to him. He was similar to a guidance counselor amongst his Les Amis friends, and he didn’t mind that one bit.

He was just reassuring Enjolras after a meeting with a particularly nasty senator when the elevator they were riding in jolted to a halt, and the lights flicked out.

“Figures. This building is as cheap as that senator.” Enjolras said, moving carefully towards the panel beside the elevator door.

Combeferre ignored Enjolras, opting instead to stare hard at the elevator doors as if his stare alone could open them.

Enjolras reached out blindly, pressing multiple buttons, but none were registering. “Well, that’s perfect.” He pulled his phone out and began tapping away.

Combeferre’s eyes remained glued to the doors. Logically, the building staff would be notified and get them out as quickly as possible. But, that wasn’t enough for Combeferre, and his rapidly quickening heart rate confirmed this.

“Hi, yes,” Enjolras spoke into his phone. “My friend and I are currently trapped in Elevator Three of your building.”

Combeferre could hear Enjolras talking, but he was having trouble focusing on the words. In fact, he was having trouble breathing. He tried to slow his heart rate down by taking in deep breaths, but it wasn’t working. He felt like he was suffocating, and he silently reached up, wrapping his shaking fingers around his neck.

“Well, the sooner the better,” Enjolras snapped before ending the call. “They said ten minutes at the most,” he told Combeferre.

Combeferre scratched weakly at his neck. Why couldn’t he get air in? He just needed to breathe; it wasn’t hard. Only, it was. It was becoming increasingly impossible. His throat was tightening, and soon enough, it would squeeze shut, restricting all air flow.

“Combeferre?”

A hand dropped down onto his shoulder, and he snapped his gaze to the left, squinting against the darkness to make out Enjolras’s wide eyes watching him with concern.

“You’re shaking,” Enjolras said, voice confused yet worried.

Right. He was trembling hard, but he was incredibly hot. And, he still couldn’t breathe. His limbs felt incredibly heavy yet his mind felt light and fuzzy. “I,” he gasped out, mouth incredibly dry. “Can’t breathe.”

“Are you claustrophobic?” Enjolras asked in a hushed tone, and Combeferre nodded quickly. Yes, that was it– he remembered now. It had been so long since his last attack; he had almost forgotten entirely.

“Shit,” Enjolras breathed out. “Okay. Okay, let’s sit down, okay?”

Combeferre didn’t need to be told twice; he slid down the wall, dropping to the floor in a trembling mess, and Enjolras was quick to follow.

Enjolras pressed a hand against Combeferre’s heaving chest, frowning. “Your heart is racing. We need to get you calmed down.”

Combeferre could only nod again because everything was starting to spin. Sweat was prickling across his overheated skin, and his mind was growing dark.

“Combeferre,” Enjolras tried, grabbing Combeferre’s hand and pressing it against his own chest. “Can you feel my heart beat?”

Combeferre forced his mind to focus on the slow, steady rise and fall of Enjolras’s chest. He could feel a strong, calm heart beating against his palm. He nodded once more.

“Good,” Enjolras said softly. “Match my breathing. I’m going to talk to you while you do.”

Combeferre calculated the seconds in between each of Enjolras’s breaths, and he worked towards matching that as Enjolras talked.

Enjolras talked about plans for the next meeting, about how embarrassed Grantaire had gotten when he accidentally saw one of said boy’s paintings, about Jehan and Courfeyrac’s wild duet during an improv karaoke night, about anything that came to his mind.

And, Combeferre listened. He could picture Grantaire’s blushing face as Enjolras described it. He breathed out a laugh as Enjolras described how terrible the duet had sounded, and suddenly he realized– he could breathe. His chest was rising and falling in tune with Enjolras’s, and his mind was becoming more crisp and clear with each passing second.

Suddenly, the lights snapped on, and the elevator whirred to life.

“Okay?” Enjolras asked, lightly brushing his thumb against Combeferre’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Combeferre whispered, rubbing at his chest. He allowed Enjolras to help him to his feet just as the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

Enjolras wrapped a steady arm around Combeferre’s waist. “Let’s take the stairs from now on, yeah?”

Combeferre smiled faintly, leaning heavily against Enjolras’s side. He was exhausted, and quite frankly, he wanted to sleep for a year, if not more. 

“Sounds good,” he breathed out. 


	9. Sick Jehan Trying to Push Through Work, and R Stepping in to Get Him to Rest

_Im glad you like the fics! And, I’m going to refer to Jehan with he/him pronouns in this. (But that’s just preference. I have no problem with non-binary Jehan.)_

Being an English major with an emphasis in creative writing had its ups and downs for Jehan. He was able to express his emotions in the form of long, moving poems, but he was also constantly under a time crunch. Anytime he finally caught up in one class, another class would drop a massive work load on him, and with finals for the fall semester approaching, he didn’t have much, if any, time to spare.

If he wasn’t holed up in his dorm, he was at the library, taking up a majority of the table with his heavy poetry studies books, and the last few days had been particularly brutal. He was staying at the library until close time and then relocating to his room, staying up until the early morning hours to get his work done.

All of this work was taking a toll on his health, but he had four more days until finals and three poetry readings directly after finals. Unfortunately, rest was just not an option for him right now, so he dry swallowed a couple of Ibuprofens to try and combat the pounding head he woke up with and made his way to the library.

It was still early; the library had only been open for about fifteen minutes, and he cherished the silence as he walked down rows of books until he reached his table, dropping his bag down onto the table with a low thud.

He had five poems to write today, and while that didn’t seem like much, each one required mandatory research. Essentially, he had to research different poets and their techniques and then write a poem inspired by those poets.

He started pulling books out of his bag when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket, smiling softly when he saw a new message from “Grantaire :) :)” flashing across his screen.

_[7:18 am] From: Grantaire :) :) - Jehan, my favorite poet! Where art thou?_

Jehan breathed out a light laugh, typing out a quick reply before putting his phone to the side. It wasn’t unusual for Grantaire to accompany him during his library time. Grantaire had art finals coming up, and said boy had been frantically sketching out ideas for his gallery piece.

It only took five minutes before Grantaire came sauntering over with two coffees.

“How did you get these past the librarian?” Jehan asked, amused, as he graciously accepted the cup.

“Bought her one,” Grantaire said as he placed his stuff on the table. He slid into the chair across from Jehan. “She was so flattered,” he added with a low laugh.

Jehan smiled, shaking his head as he took a sip of the blessedly warm coffee. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now, and the warm coffee was doing wonders to ward off the chill.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Grantaire asked as he flipped through his sketchbook.

“Poetry writing,” Jehan said with a sigh.

Grantaire shot him a sympathetic look. “I’ll be quiet.”

Jehan smiled, and two fell silent.

Three hours passed in relative silence, with the only sounds coming from Grantaire’s pencil scraping wildly across paper and Jehan flipping book pages. Jehan had researched and written two poems. He wanted to move on to his third, but he was finding it hard to concentrate. The headache from this morning had come back with a vengeance, and he was freezing. He had been doing pretty well at hiding it, but it was getting too bad, and he couldn’t stop the shivers that began to wrack his slender frame. It didn’t take long for Grantaire to glance up and notice.

“Cold?” Grantaire asked as he tilted his head in question.

Jehan briefly contemplated lying, but it wasn’t as if he could just stop shivering on command. So, he nodded, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Oh, dude, here,” Grantaire started, standing up and grabbing at the bottom of his hoodie.

“You don’t have to,” Jehan tried, but Grantaire already had the hoodie off and was moving towards him.

“It’s cool,” Grantaire said as he handed the jacket to Jehan. “The sleeves get in the way when I’m drawing anyway.”

Jehan shot him a thankful smile and slipped the forest green hoodie over his own sweater. It was incredibly warm, not surprising considering Grantaire always ran hot, and he breathed out a low, relieved sigh.

He smoothed his hair down, and when he turned to thank Grantaire properly, he found Grantaire staring at him with a frown. “What?” He asked.

“You look pale.”

Jehan laughed nervously. “I’m always pale, R.” He turned his attention back to the open book in front of him, hoping that Grantaire would take the hint, but the brunet didn’t move.

“Look at me, Jehan.”

Jehan considered his options, and he drew to the conclusion that disobeying Grantaire would be more suspicious, so he turned in his seat until he was facing the brunet. “I’m fine,” he tried, but it was as if his words were going in one ear and out the other because Grantaire was reaching forward and pressing a rough yet cool palm against his forehead.

“You’re burning up, Jehan,” Grantaire said, voice laced with concern. He slid his hand down to Jehan’s cheek, frown deepening.

“I’m okay, R,” Jehan said, trying to sound reassuring despite his tired voice.

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

Jehan could feel his composure crumbling. He wanted to tell Grantaire that he hasn’t been feeling well for a few days now, but he knew that the brunet would force him into bed, and he just had so much work to get done. He breathed out a shaky sigh, rubbing at his suddenly watering eyes.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay.” Grantaire said, crouching down until he was eye level with Jehan. He placed a hand on Jehan’s knee.

“It’s not,” Jehan sniffed as tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’ve got so much to do, R.”

Grantaire placed a hand on Jehan’s flushed cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I know you do,” he said softly. “But, you aren’t going to get much done if you drive yourself into the ground.”

Jehan knew this, but what choice did he have? He leaned forward, dropping his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. “I just want to feel better,” he whispered.

Grantaire wrapped his arms around Jehan’s trembling back. “Tell you what,” he started, rubbing up and down Jehan’s back. “How about we go back to my dorm and nap for a little while, and we’ll see how you feel when you wake up?”

Jehan’s mind told him to decline, but Grantaire’s soothing voice was pulling him in, so he nodded and allowed Grantaire to help him pack his things and lead him to the dorm.

Grantaire shared a room with Enjolras, but the latter wasn’t there when he and Jehan walked in. “He’s out studying with Combeferre,” Grantaire supplied as he walked Jehan over to his bed.

Jehan allowed Grantaire to remove his shoes before sliding out of his own paint-covered boots. The two then crawled into the bed; it was a tight squeeze because it was only a twin size, but they shifted around until Jehan was lying half on Grantaire, using the brunet’s chest as a pillow.

Grantaire started combing his fingers gently through Jehan’s hair, and Jehan was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Rest,” Grantaire said. “Combeferre will be with Enj when he comes back, and we can have him look at you.”

Jehan nodded, and he briefly thought about how that seemed like a good plan before drifting off to sleep, warm and comfortable for the first time in many days.


	10. Drunk Enjolras and Caretaker Combeferre

In hindsight, Enjolras should have known that agreeing to meet up with Grantaire and Eponine at a party would not end well. However, he decided to give the two a chance because they had been pretty persuasive and had said that it would be a small party with a few friends.

Enjolras knew that Grantaire wasn’t the best at math, but ‘few’ typically didn’t mean eighty people crammed together in a small club with loud, pulsing music washing over the crowd.

Leaving seemed to be the most logical choice, but Eponine caught him when he was half out the door. She led him to the bar and ordered two shots, sliding towards Enjolras.

“Just drink and have fun, E. It won’t kill you.” Eponine said before downing her shot in one gulp then dancing her way towards the dance floor.

Enjolras traced his finger around the rim of the small shot glass. He wasn’t one to give into peer pressure, and he knew that R and Eponine only invited him because he was having a terrible week, and they wanted to help him unwind. But, parties were not his go to for a good time, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

“Apollo!”

Enjolras sighed at the nickname as Grantaire staggered towards him, already four beers in.

“You going to drink, or what?”

Enjolras studied the way Grantaire looked at him so eagerly, and before he knew it, he was downing the shot, wincing at the bitter heat sliding down his throat.

“There he is!” Grantaire shouted, clapping his hand against Enjolras’s shoulder. “Another!” He cheered, slamming his free hand down onto the bar counter.

And so Enjolras took another shot, and another, and another, and before he knew it, he was swaying his hips in time with the music on the dance floor. He felt amazing, wild, and free for the first time in a long time, and he staggered back to the bar for more shots in between songs. The bartender was giving him skeptical looks every time he stumbled back for more, but Enjolras slammed a fifty on the counter top and was given as many shots as he requested.

He lost count after a while, but he didn’t care because he felt so fucking phenomenal, and he verbally protested when Grantaire and Eponine decided to call it a night.

“Why?” He slurred out as the two helped him to the taxi Eponine had called minutes before.

“You’ve had too much,” Grantaire said easily as he slid in beside Enjolras, taking the middle so Eponine could take the other window seat.

“That’s a false statement!” Enjolras shouted, wagging his finger in front of Grantaire’s face.

“Okay, Apollo,” Grantaire said through a laugh, and Enjolras didn’t know what was so funny, but he suddenly felt exhausted, dropping his head against Grantaire’s shoulder.

He briefly heard Grantaire tell Eponine to text Combeferre before he drifted off, only to be shaken awake what felt like seconds later.

“Enj, we are at your apartment.”

Grantaire’s voice was so soft, and Enjolras blinked up at his worried face. He nodded and allowed Grantaire to help him stand.

“How much as he had?”

Enjolras snapped his gaze to the left with a frown. When did Combeferre get here?

“I’m not sure? A lot, though.”

Enjolras shifted his gaze back to Grantaire’s slightly panicked voice. He poked the brunet in the cheek as Combeferre came to his free side.

“He’ll be okay, right? We really didn’t think he would drink that much.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Combeferre reassured as the two helped Enjolras into the apartment complex.

The low hum of the elevator had Enjolras’s eyes fluttering closed, but the loud ding had him snapping his eyes back open just as Grantaire and Combeferre led him out of the elevator and down the hall to he and Combeferre’s apartment.

“I’m sorry, Ferre,” Grantaire said as he and Combeferre helped Enjolras into bed. Enjolras wanted to reassure Grantaire that everything was fantastic, but he couldn’t get his mouth to form words.

“It’s fine, R. I’m sure the worst will be the hangover tomorrow morning.”

The voices were fading from Enjolras’s ears as he snuggled into the bed, already half-asleep by the time he faintly heard Grantaire exit the room. He heard Combeferre sigh before he drifted off to sleep.

*****

Enjolras woke with a start. He had no idea where he was or what time it was. He could only focus on his stomach lurching violently, and he flung the blankets off his trembling body and swung his feet over until they were planted on the floor. Standing proved to be difficult for the room started to tilt as soon as he got to his feet, but his stomach was twisting, so he clamped a hand over his mouth as he staggered out of the room, relying on muscle memory alone to get him to the bathroom with just enough time. He collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet and started heaving violently, and it didn’t take long until Combeferre was crouching beside him.

Enjolras felt Combeferre’s hand rub up and down his back, and he felt that his friend’s hand was the only think keeping him grounded as he heaved into the toilet. The entire room was tilting and spinning, and Combeferre’s hand on his back felt like the sole thing keeping him from moving with the room.

Two minutes later, and Enjolras was spitting weakly into the toilet before reaching up to flush it. He fell back against the side of the bathtub, wrapping his arms around his shivering body. He was suddenly freezing despite the strain from throwing up, and Combeferre’s frowning face hovering in front of him told him that this wasn’t a good sign.

Combeferre brushed his hand against Enjolras’s cheek before feeling his erratic pulse. “Shit,” he breathed out, hopping to his feet and exiting the room.

Enjolras wanted to call out, but his mouth was dry, and his teeth were chattering hard. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and pressing his forehead against his knees. He felt himself drifting off to sleep once more, but he was startled back into consciousness by something draping over him. He lifted his head, blinking tiredly at Combeferre tucking a large blanket around him.

Combeferre was silent and focused as he worked, and seconds later, he was shoving a thermometer into Enjolras’s mouth. Somewhere in the back of Enjolras’s mind, he felt he should he worried, but he was too tired, so when the thermometer beeped, he opened his mouth, allowing Combeferre to grab the device before dropping his head back against his knees.

“You’re running a little low,” Combeferre said quietly. “How much did you drink?”

“Dunno,” Enjolras mumbled. “A lot, I guess.” He was finding it hard to stay awake despite his stomach churning and his muscles aching as he shivered hard.

“Alcohol poisoning,” Combeferre said, voice low and firm. “Not too bad, but I’m going to need you to stay awake.”

Enjolras groaned, lifting his head slowly for the room was still spinning. It took a bit for his eyes to focus on a glass of water moving towards his lips.

“Small, slow sips,” Combeferre ordered, pressing the glass against Enjolras’s lips, and Enjolras obliged. The water felt heavenly against his irritated throat, but he only managed a few sips because of his stomach.

“When can I sleep?” He asked weakly.

“As soon as I’m sure you are past the worst part of this,” Combeferre said, voice soft and sympathetic. “You can rest, but I’ll have to wake you if I think you are falling asleep.”

Enjolras nodded slightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shivering frame. “Don’t be mad at Ep and R,” he said, voice low and strained. “They just wanted to help.”

Combeferre sighed. “I know,” he said. “But I am going to have to talk to them about this. You cannot handle the same amount of alcohol that they can.”

Enjolras nodded once more. He stared with furrowed brows as Combeferre suddenly got up and left the bathroom, only to return moments later with a stack of papers in hand.

“Meeting minutes?” He asked, tilting his head in question.

“If there’s one thing that I know will keep you awake, it’s social justice,” Combeferre said through a quiet laugh. “I figured we could review last week’s meeting minutes then plan this week’s meeting agenda.”

Enjolras smiled. He wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to contribute with his muddled mind, but he grabbed a page with trembling fingers and began reading despite the spinning room, and soon enough, he found himself awake and focused as his eyes darted wildly across the page.


	11. Enjolras and Courfeyrac in an airport ft. Sick Courfeyrac

The conference was a make it or break it for Enjolras’s career, or at least, that’s how he saw it. It came about rather suddenly, and he was only given a few days to prepare. Needless to say, he’s been in a bit of a panic, feeling less prepared with each passing day.

He was just in the middle of a break down the day before he was to depart by plane when Courfeyrac offered to come for moral support.

Enjolras studied his friend’s poor pallor and red-rimmed nose with raised brows. “But, you’re sick,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Allergies, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to tell you this all week.”

Enjolras briefly glanced out the window, eyes falling onto the blossoming flowers welcoming spring’s arrival. It made sense, really; Combeferre had said that their were a lot of people coming to the clinic with allergy complaints.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, turning back to Courfeyrac with narrow eyes.

“Am I sure about the allergies, or am I sure about going with you?”

“Both,” Enjolras replied as soon as the words left Courfeyrac’s mouth.

“Yes. I’m sure to both.”

There was a slight rasp to Courfeyrac’s voice, and he sniffled lightly as he finished the sentence, leaving Enjolras hesitant to agree. But, the thought of going with a friend verses tackling this alone outweighed any concerns he had.

“If you’re sure,” he said, unable to keep the gratitude from his voice.

“I’ll go pack my things,” Courfeyrac said with a smile, leaving Enjolras to his thoughts.

*****

The two arrived at the airport, courtesy of Combeferre, way earlier than necessary, but Enjolras couldn’t help it. He had been up all night pacing a hole into the floor with nerves, and as soon as the sun began to color the sky with light, he insisted on packing up the car and going despite his sleep-riddled friends.

“You’ll call me as soon as you get there.”

There was no question in Combeferre’s tone, and Enjolras shot his friend a nod. “Of course,” he said, accepting the bag Courfeyrac was handing him.

“Take your allergy medicine, Courf,” Combeferre added, and Enjolras took the time to study his friend once more. The brunet had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire ride to the airport, but Enjolras had pegged it on lack of coffee.

“I will,” Courfeyrac answered as if replying to a doting parent.

“Alright, well be careful,” Combeferre started, turning the car back on. “And Enjolras,” he added, prompting Enjolras to turn around and arch a brow at him. “Don’t worry too much, okay?”

Courfeyrac snorted, and Enjolras huffed in reply. “I’ll stop worrying when it’s over, Ferre.” With that, he turned on his heel and started towards the airport’s entrance, with the faint sound of Combeferre telling Courfeyrac to watch over him clipping off as the electronic doors slid open.

After an hour of security checks, Enjolras and Courfeyrac were seated on hard, plastic chairs placed by an outlet. They had six hours to kill until they were set to board their plane, and Enjolras figured he could review the keynotes of the conference while they waited.

Enjolras suggested a nap for Courfeyrac, and the brunet obliged, drawing his knees up to his chest on the small chair and lying his head atop his knees.

An hour passed in relative silence, with the only sounds coming from Courfeyrac’s frequent coughing and sneezing. Enjolras was quick to peg this on Courfeyrac’s allergies because he knew the brunet had yet to take his medicine, but the soft tremors vibrating his seat left him frowning.

He snapped his gaze towards Courfeyrac, frown deepening now that he could visibly witness Courfeyrac shivering. “Hey,” he called out, placing a hesitant hand on the brunet’s trembling back.

Courfeyrac sat up from being hunched over his knees. “W-what?”

Enjolras surveyed Courfeyrac’s pale face and flushed cheeks with furrowed brows. “Are you okay?” He asked cautiously.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Just cold. It’s freezing in here.”

Enjolras found the temperature to be quite comfortable, but he wasn’t sure if Courfeyrac’s allergies could result in his body being more sensitive.

He nodded. “Let me go buy you a coffee,” he said, already standing and stretching his legs.

“Actually, can you get me tea?”

Enjolras snapped his attention quickly to Courfeyrac, tilting his head in question.

“My throat’s just a little sore,” Courfeyrac explained, waving away Enjolras’s questioning look. “I need to take the allergy medicine.”

Enjolras nodded, face a spitting image of skepticism, but he didn’t press further. He started towards a coffee shop, thoughts running a mile a minute, but everything halted in his mind at the sound of his phone ringing. He fished his phone from his pocket and saw Combeferre’s name flashing across the screen.

“It’s only been two hours, Ferre,” Enjolras said as a greeting.

_“Two hours for you, but it’s felt like a million for me.”_

Combeferre’s tone sounded almost breathless, and Enjolras frowned. “Why, what’s wrong?”

_“Strain of the flu that flu shots didn’t cover apparently. All those allergy people have been pouring back in with high fevers. It’s been a zoo here.”_

Enjolras froze, heart racing. He stole a glance back to Courfeyrac with panicked eyes. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calm despite his heart hammering against his chest.

 _“Yeah. I’m not even sure if I’m going to make it home tonight,”_ Combeferre said, and Enjolras hummed sympathetically in response, eyes still trained on Courfeyrac’s shivering form a little ways away.

_“What? Of course, I’ll be right there. Hey, Enj?”_

Enjolras was pulled back to reality. “Yeah? Who was that you were taking to?”

_“Joly. I’ve got to go. We just had a whole family come in with this damned flu.”_

Enjolras had just said goodbye when the call disconnected. He could feel panic rising up his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to relax as he started towards the coffee shop once more. He’d get Courfeyrac the tea and make the brunet take the allergy medicine first.

When he returned a few minutes later with a hot tea in hand, Courfeyrac looked up at him gratefully.

“You are going to take your allergy medicine, right?” Enjolras asked, handing the cup to Courfeyrac.

“Yes, jesus, you sound like Combeferre.” Courfeyrac said, fishing around in his pocket for the medicine.

Enjolras watched the brunet chase two pills with the hot tea. Seemingly content for now, he took his place back beside Courfeyrac, settling his laptop back onto his lap.

“Better?” He asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

Courfeyrac took another sip of the hot tea. “Very much,” he said, and despite how weak his voice sounded, Enjolras accepted the answer well enough and went back to reading notes for the conference.

However, another hour passed, and Courfeyrac seemed to be growing restless beside him, shifting around constantly and shivering still despite the hot tea he had finished only twenty minutes ago.

Enjolras shut his laptop before turning in his seat to face Courfeyrac. “How long does the allergy medicine take to kick in?”

Courfeyrac sighed. “I’m fine, Enjolras.”

“How long?” Enjolras pressed firmly.

“It should’ve started working by now,” Courfeyrac whispered between chattering teeth, and Enjolras cursed under his breath as he brushed a cool palm against Courfeyrac’s forehead. The heat was alarming, and he pulled his hand back as if burned.

“Shit,” he breathed out, panic flaring within his stomach. His heart started to pound fiercely against his chest, and his thoughts began to take charge.

“Woah, hey,” Courfeyrac tried, placing a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “I’m fine, okay?”

Enjolras shook his head, gnawing at his bottom lip. “You’re not,” he muttered. ‘Hospital’ and ‘Conference’ dueled within his mind while alternate ideas shouted from the sidelines. 'Call Combeferre’, but he couldn’t, not with how busy Combeferre was. 'Send him home and still go to the conference’, but he wouldn’t do that. He would never leave Courfeyrac while this sick. 'Go with him to the hospital’, and that idea was the loudest, most prominent. But, there was still the quiet voice hidden amongst the others that told him 'Missing this conference could end your career’.

“Enj?”

Enjolras snapped back to reality, taking in Courfeyrac’s glistening eyes. “No,” he breathed out lowly, willing his mind to turn off. “No,” he repeated louder, getting to his feet. “We’re leaving.”

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac shouted, voice laced with disbelief. However, the raised voice was enough to leave him hunched over in a coughing fit.

“You can’t,” Courfeyrac gasped out in between coughs. “The conference-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Enjolras finished firmly. He began gathering he and Courfeyrac’s bags.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac tried, voice shaking.

“Let’s go,” Enjolras said, leaving no room for argument in his tone. He helped a hesitant Courfeyrac to his feet and led the two back past security and out of the airport.

*****

The taxi ride from the airport to the clinic felt terribly long, with Courfeyrac only growing worse with each passing minute. The panic Enjolras felt before was heightening, with worry mixing into it.

He tossed the taxi driver a bunch of bills as they pulled up to the clinic before gathering their bags with one hand and dragging Courfeyrac out of the car with his other.

Once inside, he tossed his bags to the floor before leading Courfeyrac up to the front desk.

“Can you page Combeferre?” He questioned quickly.

“He’s very busy,” the nurse answered, and Enjolras swore under his breath.

“It’s urgent,” he said, voice low but laced with concern. He nodded to Courfeyrac, who was barely holding himself upright beside him.

The nurse looked between the two before making the page, and moments later, Combeferre came bursting into the lobby, eyes widening when they fell onto Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

“What happened?” The words spilled off Combeferre’s tongue, and Enjolras motioned to Courfeyrac helplessly.

“He just keeps getting worse,” he said, unable to mask the panic in his voice. He watched with furrowed brows as Combeferre did a quick examination before cursing.

“Ferre?” He questioned as Combeferre snaked an arm around Courfeyrac’s waist before starting towards one of the medical wards quickly.

“Ferre, what’s wrong? Is he going to be okay?” Enjolras was following closely beside them, eyes darting from Combeferre to Courfeyrac.

Combeferre led them into an empty room and helped Courfeyrac on the bed. “I need to get him started on antibiotics immediately,” Combeferre informed, voice carrying a professional tone.

Enjolras backed himself into a corner and watched with wide, worried eyes as Combeferre worked on hooking Courfeyrac up with IVs.

*****

When Courfeyrac came to, Enjolras shot forward in his seat, grabbing one of Courfeyrac’s hands with both of his.

“Courf?” He questioned softly, eyes searching across Courfeyrac’s face.

It took Courfeyrac a few moments to process his location. He turned to face Enjolras with furrowed brows. “The conference?” He asked, voice raw and weak.

“Fuck, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras swore, tightening his grip on Courfeyrac’s hand. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

“It matters to you,” Courfeyrac countered, and Enjolras sighed, heart wrenching in his chest.

“I called the administrator and explained what happened. She was very kind and put me on the roster for another conference in a few months.”

Courfeyrac nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out, and Enjolras shook his head quickly.

“Don’t be, Courf. Jesus, none of this is your fault. Combeferre said that this flu takes a while to kick into full gear, but once it does, it doesn’t let up.” Enjolras brushed his thumb lightly across Courfeyrac’s hand.

“I called the others,” he added after a few moments. “R said, and I quote, 'Enjolras, if you get Courfeyrac killed, I’m going to kill you.’”

Courfeyrac breathed out a low laugh. “Impossible. R loves you.”

“You can ask Combeferre,” Enjolras answered, lips curling up into a soft smile. “He was here when I called.”

“Is Combeferre mad?” Courfeyrac asked, smile dropping to a frown.

“What?” Enjolras asked, head tilted in confusion. “No, of course not. No one is mad, Courfeyrac. We are all just very worried.”

“Are you sure?” Courfeyrac asked, and Enjolras’s heart twisted once more. He stood up, pressing a feather-light kiss to Courfeyrac’s forehead.

“I’m very sure,” he said. “You should rest some more because the others will be here soon.”

Courfeyrac nodded, and Enjolras reclaimed his spot in the chair beside Courfeyrac’s bed. He grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand once more, lighting rubbing his thumb over it as he watched the brunet’s breathing even out once more.


	12. E and R Arguing and R Suddenly Fainting

“Drugs, Grantaire? Seriously?” Enjolras crossed his arms, tone heavily laced with disappointment.

They had been at a rally with the rest of the Les Amis. Everything had been peaceful up until the cops showed up unannounced. Enjolras, who had been on the stage at the time, was a flurry of anger and confusion as shouts of “drugs” floated up from the crowd.

Shortly after, all hell had broken loose. Cops were shoving people roughly aside to single out one person. Grantaire.

The brunet had been the definition of resistant, claiming wildly over and over that the drugs found on the ground at his feet weren’t his, but the evidence showed otherwise. At least, that was what Enjolras had thought, and that was why he sped straight to Grantaire’s apartment as soon as he got word that the brunet had been released.

“I’m trying to tell you that they weren’t mine!”

Enjolras shoved past the brunet to get into the apartment, quickly turning on his heel to face him once more. “How am I supposed to believe that when the drugs were literally at your feet?”

“There were so many people there, Enj! Anyone could have dropped them!”

Grantaire’s tone was thick with desperation, and Enjolras almost faltered, but his anger flared, getting the best of him. “Why would you jeopardize the rally like that, Grantaire? I know you don’t necessarily agree with what we stand for, but you’ve never done something like this before.”

“So, why do you think I would do something like this now!?”

Logically, Grantaire had a point, but Enjolras was too aggravated at the disaster that the rally turned into to make reason with logic. “Maybe you did it to get back at me.”

“For what!?”

There was anger coloring Grantaire’s tone now, which was only proving to heighten Enjolras’s own fury boiling his blood. “I don’t know, R! Maybe because you were mad that I snapped at you on Tuesday’s meeting! Maybe this has been your plan all along- to ruin the image of the Les Amis!” Enjolras flailed his arms about as each word grew louder and angrier than the one before.

Grantaire froze at the words, brows furrowed deeply. But, when Enjolras opened his mouth to continue, he ended up snapping his mouth closed just as Grantaire’s eyes rolled back before he collapsed to the floor.

For a moment, everything was still. Enjolras was stunned, his mind completely blank and breath caught in his throat. But moments later, time caught up to him, and he dropped to his knees beside Grantaire, shaking hands hovering over the seemingly lifeless body.

Panic was swelling deep within his stomach as he ghosted his hands above Grantaire’s face. The only color to the brunet’s face was the dark red flush spread across his cheeks, and when Enjolras brushed a hesitant palm against Grantaire’s forehead, he found it burning. He jerked his hand towards Grantaire’s wrist, pressing on the small indent until he felt a weak pulse thumping against his fingertips.

While the pulse should have been relieving, the brunet was still unconscious. Enjolras stared with wide, panicked eyes. He had no idea that Grantaire was ill, and any anger he felt before was dissipating into deep-rooted concern.

His mind was running a million miles a minute, and before he knew what was happening, he was carefully lifting Grantaire bridal style and carting him off towards the bedroom. His worry only heightened as he gently placed Grantaire on the bed because the brunet was still out despite the jostling around from being lifted.

Enjolras had no idea what to do- this wasn’t his field. He called Combeferre but got his voice mail, and when he tried Joly, the result was the same.

His mind told him to lower the fever, and he walked into the bathroom, wetting a hand towel with cold water before moving back to the bedroom as if on autopilot.

He began the slow process of smoothing the towel over Grantaire’s forehead, down to his cheeks, then further down to his neck, and he repeated this, continuously getting up to re-wet the towel for the twenty minutes it took for Grantaire to come to.

“Grantaire?” He watched with bated breath, hand frozen halfway towards Grantaire’s forehead, as Grantaire groaned and rolled his head to the side.

“R?” He pressed, voice ever so soft and gentle, and when Grantaire opened his eyes, Enjolras could feel the tension slide from his shoulders as relief washed over his body like a tidal wave.

“Wha?”

Enjolras used his free hand to brush Grantaire’s bangs back, frowning at the boiling heat still. But, at least the brunet was awake. “You fainted,” he said, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. “You’re burning up.”

Grantaire seemed to take a moment to process the words before nodding.

“How long have you been feeling this bad?” Enjolras smoothed the damp cloth down Grantaire’s cheek, heart wrenching as the brunet leaned into the cool touch.

“A few days.”

Enjolras’s forehead creased into a frown. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you even come to the rally?”

“To support you.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure how three words could make his heart stutter drastically, but it did. Their previous argument was flashing hot across his mind, and apparently, Grantaire was remembering the same.

“They weren’t mine, E.”

Grantaire’s voice was so weak, so sad, and Enjolras could only shake his head in response as he gripped one of Grantaire’s hands.

“That’s not important now,” he managed out after a few moments. “Just let me take care of you.”

“You don’t ha-”

“Nonsense,” Enjolras snapped lightly, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “I want to.”

And, Grantaire gave in, drifting back to sleep a few moments later while Enjolras kept his routine up. The following few hours were rough to say the least. Grantaire was alternating from shivering intensely to attempting to strip all his clothes off while still sucked into a fitful sleep.

Enjolras piled on the blankets when the shivering picked up and peeled them back off when Grantaire started to kick weakly at them, all while re-wetting and smoothing the cool, damp cloth over his face and neck. 

After what felt like years for Enjolras, Grantaire’s face relaxed some, and his erratic breathing had evened out. Enjolras quietly stepped out of the room to call Combeferre, who had called four times. 

_“You didn’t murder him, did you?”_

Enjolras breathed out a low sigh at Combeferre’s almost breathless greeting. “No.”

_“They weren’t his drugs, E. One of Marius’s classmates came forward and confessed while I was bandaging Courfeyrac’s arm.”_

Enjolras glanced towards the bedroom, eyes filled with guilt. “He fainted,” he said lowly. “What happened to Courf?” He added.

_“Wait, R fainted? Why? Did he get hurt?”_

“No,” Enjolras said, dropping down onto the couch. “We were arguing, and he just passed out. He’s got a really bad fever.” Enjolras suddenly felt tired, like the energy was being sucked out of his body with each word.

_“What? He didn’t say he was sick? Why did he even go to the rally?”_

“To support me,” Enjolras whispered, clutching the phone hard with a trembling hand.

_“Is he okay? Did he wake up? I can come over there.”_

“It’s fine,” Enjolras answered, tilting his head back against the back of the couch. “He woke up, and I’m taking care of him. What happened to Courf?”

_“Small mishap when a cop got too handsy with Jehan. Are you sure you don’t need me?”_

Enjolras nodded despite knowing Combeferre couldn’t see. “Yeah,” he finally managed out after a few moments. “I’ll call if I need you.”

The two said their goodbyes, and Enjolras went back to the bedroom to find Grantaire still sleeping peacefully. When he pressed a palm to Grantaire’s forehead, he found it slightly cooler than before, and he took that as a small victory as he went to re-wet the towel.

He spent another hour gently smoothing the towel over Grantaire’s face and neck before the brunet stirred once more.

“Hey,” he rasped out, and Enjolras was quick to retrieve a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, voice slightly stronger after sipping gingerly at the water.

Enjolras set the glass down before taking one of Grantaire’s hands once more. “Listen,” he started, gently rubbing his thumb across Grantaire’s hand. “Someone came forward and confessed to the drugs.” He studied Grantaire’s face, but the brunet showed no signs of gloating.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, but I’m more sorry that I made such absurd accusations.” Enjolras tightened his grip on Grantaire’s hand when Grantaire opened his mouth to reply. “Not now,” he said, cutting the brunet off. “We will talk about this more once you’re well. I just wanted to apologize before you go back to sleep.”

With no other choice, Grantaire could only nod in response, but after thinking for a moment, he suddenly asked, “Lie with me? You look exhausted.” 

Enjolras frowned, a polite decline hot on his lips, but the look in Grantaire’s eyes was hopeful, sincere, and before he knew it, he was climbing into the bed beside the brunet.

The two kept their distance, both lying on their backs with a good bit of space between them. But, when Grantaire brushed his hand lightly against Enjolras’s, Enjolras moved his hand until their fingers laced together as if they belonged that way, and the two drifted off to sleep, the previous argument lost within the comfort of their company. 


	13. Sick Joly ft. One Worried Bossuet

When one member of the Les Amis got struck down with illness, it didn’t take long for the others to follow suit.

No one was surprised when Enjolras went down with the flu first, with Grantaire quick to follow. After that, it was like a line of dominoes, each member dropping one after the other.

For the sake of convenience, they all opted to occupy various parts of Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. Combeferre had been going strong tending to those already ill, but soon enough, he was laid up in bed, leaving Joly as the only doctor amongst a large group of sick people.

Despite wearing a face mask constantly, Joly was starting to feel run down after two days of being awake almost constantly. A few had expressed their concerns towards him, but he brushed off their worries with an easy smile hidden behind the mask.

However, the third day in left him feeling worse for wear. His head throbbed mercilessly, making it hard to concentrate on the temperature readings from the others, and he was freezing despite the sweat sliding down his temples. Yet, he pressed on, ignoring the anxiety trying to surface from being ill as he continued tending to the others.

Twice Combeferre tried to get him to rest, but how could he? While some members were starting to get better, others were still battling with spiking fevers and rattling coughing fits. A few were glued to the bathroom as nausea washed over them in strong waves. There was no way that Joly could stop- he was too worried for everyone, and he wanted nothing more than to ensure that his friends get nursed back to health properly.

He felt he was doing well in keeping up his cheerful facade, but when he entered Bossuet’s room for a check up, he felt his happy demeanor crumbling.

“Joly, my darling!”

Joly studied those bright, vibrant eyes, hoping the warmth radiating from them would heat his chilled bones, but it didn’t, and he had to fight back the urge to shiver.

“Are you alright?”

Tears began welling in Joly’s eyes, and he shook his head, ripping his mask off as a small sob slipped past his lips.

Bossuet was quick to Joly’s side, and Joly wanted to protest, but his words were caught in his throat as his shoulders shook from tears spilling from his eyes. He felt a cool palm press against his forehead followed by a low string of curses.

“You’re burning, Joly!”

Concern was dripping from Bossuet’s voice, and Joly was too weak to resist being led to the bed. Bossuet tucked the covers tightly around him before disappearing from the room.

Joly was left alone with his anxiety and the flu, and he curled in on himself, crying into the pillow just as the door opened once more.

“Shit.”

“He usually gets a little weepy when he has a fever, but he’s boiling, Ferre. He’s been sobbing since he came in.”

He looked up, eyes darting from Bossuet to Combeferre, who was looking pale and disheveled after having been woken abruptly by Bossuet.

Joly tried to sit up, but Combeferre was quick to push him back against the pillows.

“You’ve done enough.”

Combeferre’s voice was smooth, reassuring, but it did nothing to ease the anxiety crawling across his skin. He allowed Combeferre to examine him, and as Combeferre’s frown grew deeper, Joly’s anxiety spiked higher.

“You’re fever is very high, Joly. How long have you been feeling poorly?”

Joly’s heart twisted, and his stomach flipped nervously. “A few days,” he muttered, sniffling as more tears slid down his cheeks.

Bossuet was at his side once more after having climbed onto the bed beside him. Bossuet snaked one arm around Joly’s shoulders, and Joly leaned heavily into Bossuet’s side.

“You’ve pushed yourself too hard, Joly.”

Joly nodded, pressing his overly-warm face into Bossuet’s neck as shivers wracked his frame. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into Bossuet’s neck, just loud enough for Combeferre to hear as well.

“I’m not mad,” Combeferre sighed. “I’m just very worried.”

Joly’s stomach twisted at the words as thoughts of dying flashed hot across his mind. He shuddered, and Bossuet tightened the grip around his shoulders.

“Will he be alright?”

The concern coloring Bossuet’s normally cheerful tone left Joly crying harder, tears spilling down Bossuet’s neck.

“Yes, but he will need a lot of rest. And he will need to be monitored pretty regularly.”

“I can do it.”

Joly suddenly pushed away from Bossuet with a frown. “You may not,” he said, voice shaky but firm. “You are ill. All of you are.”

“Joly-”

Bossuet’s words cut off as Combeferre shoved a thermometer into his mouth, and Joly watched with bated breath as the numbers climbed, stopping at 100.4 Degrees Fahrenheit.

“How do you feel?” Combeferre asked, addressing Bossuet.

“Not great, but well enough.”

“Good,” Combeferre said. He arched a brow at Joly, and Joly tilted his head in question.

“Bossuet’s going to watch over you while I sleep the rest of this off.”

Joly opened his mouth to protest, but Combeferre held a hand up, cutting him off.

“You have to rest, Joly. Your fever is concerning.”

“The others?” Joly questioned weakly, swiping tears away from his eyes.

“Enjolras’s fever broke. Grantaire won’t be far behind. They can handle it.”

“Do not be absurd Combeferre!” Joly shouted, irritating his throat enough to leave him doubled over into a coughing fit. He felt Bossuet’s hand rubbing small, gentle circles on his back as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Those two are incompetent when it comes to this,” he pressed in between coughs.

“True, but they’ll have to do for now. Most everyone is already quickly on the road to recovery anyway, so they won’t have to do much.”

Joly wanted to protest further, but his energy was depleting rapidly. He sagged back against the pillows in defeat. “Fine. Go rest, Ferre.”

He closed his eyes, faintly hearing Combeferre and Bossuet exchange a few words as sleep fought hard against the anxiety bubbling within his chest.

He must have drifted because the next thing he knew, he was being woken by a cool palm cupping his face.

“I’ve got medicine for you, darling.”

Joly nodded tiredly and allowed Bossuet to help him into a sitting position. He took the medicine wordlessly, dropping back hard against the pillows as soon as the pills were swallowed.

“How are you, love? I texted Musichetta, and she’s very worried, as am I.”

Joly whimpered, tears welling in his eyes once more. “I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, and before he knew what was happening, Bossuet was in bed beside him, cradling him gently against his chest.

Joly pressed into the warmth that eased his shivers some.

“You are going to be just fine, darling. You’ve taken such good care of us; now it’s our turn to take care of you.”

Joly nodded, and for the first time in the last three days, his anxiety levels dropped at Bossuet’s deep, soothing voice. He whispered for Bossuet to stay, and Bossuet answered by shifting around until the two were fully reclined.

Joly rested his head against Bossuet’s chest, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat thumping against his ear. He felt himself being pulled towards sleep, and Bossuet must have sensed the same because he muttered a soft “rest, darling”.

Joly only nodded in response before drifting off to sleep.


	14. E Trying to Push Through an Illness Because He Loves His Friends

Every so often, Enjolras would turn the reigns for a rally over to one of his friends because he felt it was important to show those who attend the rally that all members of the Les Amis feel passionately about the issues to be discussed. He couldn’t always be the one speaking to the crowd; that wasn’t what the Les Amis were about.

For their monthly rally, it was Combeferre’s turn to shine, and the topic for affordable medicine for all was right up his ally.

Enjolras had watched Combeferre spend almost the entire month meticulously planning every aspect of the rally, including location, time, and the speech, and he couldn’t be more proud of his friend.

While not necessarily soft spoken, Combeferre was one that often worked behind the scenes, so when he expressed interest in leading a rally for the affordable medicine, Enjolras was ecstatic.

And with the rally only a few days away, Enjolras should be feeling on top of the world for his friend, but instead, he felt run down, as if he were the one who had been tirelessly planning the rally for the month.

His limbs felt as if they were made of lead, and his head was throbbing mercilessly, making it difficult to concentrate on basic, everyday tasks. But, he decided to push through it.

Combeferre was nervous for the first time since he had approached Enjolras about leading the rally, and Enjolras wanted to reassure his friend that everything was going to go smoothly. He didn’t need to worry Combeferre with his ailments, so he was going to do whatever it took to hide them.

However, hiding stuff from Combeferre was difficult, as Enjolras soon found out when he met Combeferre for lunch the day before they rally.

“You don’t look well.”

Enjolras slid into the seat across from Combeferre, matching Combeferre’s frown. “Is that anyway to greet your dearest friend?”

“Seriously, Enjolras. Are you alright?”

Enjolras smiled despite feeling absolutely terrible. “Of course,” but even as he said it, his lungs protested, and he was forced to turn away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow.

“How long?”

Enjolras waved Combeferre’s question away as he sipped gingerly at the water Combeferre must have ordered for him prior to his arrival.

“It’s just a cold, Ferre. I’m quite alright.” He answered when Combeferre wouldn’t let up with his narrowed eyes.

“Enjolras-”

“Combeferre, enough.” Enjolras snapped, voice firm and final. “We are not here to talk about me. We are here to talk about _your_ rally tomorrow.” He was thankful that his voice was holding out despite his throat feeling as if it were littered with shards of glass.

He matched Combeferre’s expression, and after a few minutes, Combeferre caved.

“What if I mess up?”

Enjolras’s eyes softened. “Never in my life have I seen you mess up.”

“I’m not you, Enj. I don’t know how to get the crowd going.”

Enjolras reached across the table to pat Combeferre’s hand. “You do, Ferre, but you know that we will all be in the crowd supporting you.”

“I wish you’d join me on stage.”

Enjolras sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nonsense. This is your moment, Ferre.”

A brief moment of silence passed over the two. Enjolras sipped absently at his water as he studied Combeferre. He knew his friend was deep in thought based on his ever so slightly shifting facial expressions.

“Do you really think I can do this?” Combeferre finally asked, and Enjolras frowned at the hesitance clouding Combeferre’s tone.

“Of course.” He replied easily, and he watched with relieved eyes as the tension in Combeferre’s shoulders faded some. “You will do brilliantly.”

“Thanks, Enj,” Combeferre said, and Enjolras shot his friend a wide smile just as the waitress came over to take their orders.

*****

When Enjolras woke the day of the rally, he felt as if death were seeping into every crevice of his body. Just the action of lifting his arm to turn of his alarm left him feeling exhausted, and despite a hoodie and three blankets, he was still ice cold. The headache he’d been fighting off was spreading up from his temples and across his forehead, and his chest felt tight and uncomfortable, prompting him to take in short, choppy breaths in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pressure crushing his lungs.

He had no idea how he was going to make it through the rally, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. This was Combeferre’s big moment, and he wouldn’t miss it for anything, so he forced himself out of bed, only to halt the second his feet touched the floor because the room started to spin drastically, and he had to brace himself against his bedside table to keep from toppling over.

Once the room stopped spinning enough to walk in a relatively straight line, Enjolras got ready. He kept the hoodie he slept in on and paired it with a large coat despite the fairly warm temperatures outside with the coming of spring. He was freezing, and he did not wish to spend the entire rally shivering.

He slipped into a pair of jeans and jammed his feet into a pair of boots before searching his closet for a hat. He wasn’t one to wear hats, but Grantaire did, and it didn’t take him long to stumble upon a black beanie lying in the back of his closet. He tugged it over his hair, and when he looked into the mirror, he winced.

He looked the actual definition of sick. His face was deathly pale save the crimson flush spread across his cheeks. What hair that wasn’t covered with the hat was standing in all directions, and the hoodie was wrinkled enough to give away that he had slept in it.

But none of that mattered. He wasn’t going to a fashion show. He was going to support his very best friend on his first rally. That was the only thing that mattered.

He gathered his phone and car keys, shooting off a quick “on my way” text to Combeferre before exiting his apartment.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Enjolras glanced around, instantly regretting claiming a standing spot beside Grantaire. The brunet had a high attention to detail thanks to countless hours devoted to painting, so he was able to pick up on visual things very quickly.

“I’m fine,” he said, despite his raw, raspy voice sounding anything but. He turned to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow before turning back to Grantaire. “Have you talked to Combeferre?”

“No, but Courfeyrac is backstage with him. He texted a little while ago saying Ferre is pretty nervous. Are you going to go talk to him before he goes on?”

Enjolras thought about it, absently wrapping his arms around his shivering frame. “No,” he decided. “It will only stress him out if he sees me like this.”

“So you admit you’re sick?” Grantaire asked, voice teasing, and Enjolras shot him a frown.

“No. Now drop it. We are here for Combeferre.” He turned his attention towards the stage just as Courfeyrac came running out.

“Okay, he was a little nervous, but I calmed him down. Told him he has a great crowd out here!”

Enjolras took a second to glance around. Courfeyrac wasn’t wrong; there were countless people holding signs and already chatting passionately about affordable medicine. Despite feeling terrible, his heart swelled with pride, and he just knew that Combeferre was going to be brilliant.

“Yo, Enj? You okay?”

Enjolras sighed, which proved to be a mistake because it left him doubled over in a coughing fit.

“He’s clearly fine,” Grantaire said, voice dripping in sarcasm, and Enjolras shot him a glare as he was catching his breath.

“I am fine,” he wheezed out, to which Grantaire and Courfeyrac scoffed in reply.

“Whatever you say, Enj,” Courfeyrac said, disbelief evident in his tone, but the three were quick to hush when Combeferre walked onto the stage.

The crowd began to cheer when Combeferre reached the mic, and Enjolras cheered with them despite his pained throat. He waved and smiled when Combeferre locked eyes with him, and Combeferre shot a nervous grin and offered a nod.

But, when Combeferre started to speak, the audience went wild with support, and with each cheer, Combeferre’s confidence grew just as Enjolras’s headache.

Enjolras was desperately trying to match the enthusiasm of the crowd, but it was growing harder and harder. His shouts of encouragement were frequently cut off by harsh coughing fits that left his vision blurry with tears. He knew Grantaire and Courfeyrac were shooting him occasional worried looks, but he did his best to ignore it with the hopes that the two would do the same.

However, half way through Combeferre’s speech and Enjolras began to feel hot, boiling even. His skin was itching with heat crawling all across it, and before he knew it, he was ripping off layers. He tossed the hat at Grantaire, who caught it with a raised brow, and then he shrugged out of the coat before ripping the hoodie off as if it were burning his skin.

He dropped the jackets to the ground before fanning himself with one hand and tugging absently at his shirt collar with the other.

“Are you okay?”

Grantaire’s voice was close to his ear, and the hot breath over his overly-sensitive skin sent a shiver down his spine. “Yeah,” he replied, turning to face Grantaire to try and reassure the brunet, but he was met with a deep frown.

“I think you might need to sit down,” Grantaire said, hand at Enjolras’s elbow, and when Enjolras went to reply, he suddenly realized the reason for Grantaire’s sudden concern.

Dark spots began to dance across his vision, and he tried to blink them away, but it was only making everything worse. The cheers from the crowd began to sound muffled, as if underwater. “I think you’re right,” he told Grantaire right before his knees gave away and everything went black.

*****

“He’s an absolute idiot! He’s burning, and knowing him, he’s probably dehydrated. He’s going to need to go to the hospital!”

Joly’s voice was incredibly loud and incredibly close, and Enjolras was very annoyed that it woke him.

“I think he’s coming to.” 

Combeferre’s voice had Enjolras’s eyes snapping open. He tried to sit up but was quickly pushed back down. 

“Easy, Enjolras,” Combeferre warned, but Enjolras was panicking. 

“The rally,” he tried, voice a wreck, and he wasn’t expecting the smile Combeferre shot him in return. 

“Your little passing out stunt got the crowd more heated because they became convinced that you couldn’t afford medicine.” 

Enjolras stared, jaw dropped. He was having trouble forming coherent thoughts within his head. “So, it was a success?” 

“Of course,” Combeferre answered. “But it would have been a success without your passing out stunt, so next time you aren’t feeling well enough to attend a rally, you need to tell me.” 

Combeferre’s voice was firm, and Enjolras could only nod in response, too baffled by the events to form solid thoughts. 

“Grantaire’s bringing his car around, so it shouldn’t be too much longer until we can get him to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Enjolras tried. “We need to celebrate your successful rally.” 

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked, and when Enjolras tilted his head in question, Combeferre sighed. “Do me a favor, and shut up?” 

There was no hostility in Combeferre’s tone, only mild annoyance, and Enjolras nodded just as word came that Grantaire was there with the car. 


	15. E Denying Being Sick ft. So Done R

It wasn’t everyday that their fearless leader was struck down with illness. In fact, Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time Enjolras had been sick; however, it was obvious by the ninth sneeze that Enjolras was desperately trying to power through what appeared to be a nasty cold during their weekly meeting at the Musain.

“And I think,” Enjolras started, pausing to sneeze three times into the crook of his elbow, “that’s it for today,” he finished, sniffling quietly as he gathered his papers.

Grantaire hopped out of his seat and started towards Enjolras but was stopped by a hand clamping down on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Combeferre said tiredly.

Grantaire shifted his gaze from Combeferre, to Enjolras, then back to Combeferre. “He’s denying it?”

“Of course.” Combeferre gave Grantaire’s shoulder a light pat before following Courfeyrac and Jehan out the door, leaving only Enjolras and Grantaire remaining.

Grantaire cleared his throat, prompting Enjolras to look up.

“R, what’re you,” Enjolras began, but his words trailed off as the tickling in his nose became too much. He turned his head to sneeze four times into his arm.

“You’re sick,” Grantaire stated flatly as he crossed his arms.

“I’m not,” Enjolras replied easily as he slipped into his coat.

“No?” Grantaire started towards Enjolras with raised brows. “Are you just suddenly allergic to the Musain? To social justice? To your friends who are always at your beck and call?”

Enjolras sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, R.”

“Seriously, Enj?” Grantaire questioned sharply. “You can barely make it through a sentence without sneezing.”

“I said I don’t know,” Enjolras’s breath suddenly hitched, and he turned his face away with just enough time to sneeze once, twice, three times into his arm. “What you are talking about,” he finished, rubbing lightly at his nose.

“You’re unbelievable,” Grantaire breathed out as he grabbed his jacket. “You should go home and rest.”

“I’m going to the university library to study,” Enjolras countered as he started towards the door.

Grantaire pondered his options before deciding to tag along with Enjolras to make sure the idiot doesn’t die.

*****

The library was packed with students preparing for finals, but Enjolras and Grantaire had managed to secure a table in the back corner. Grantaire had snagged a box of tissues off the front desk when the two entered, and despite Enjolras’s protests that he didn’t need them, he was on his sixth one after an hour.

The two were getting quite an array of dirty looks thanks to Enjolras’s near constant sneezing, and Grantaire would only respond to the looks with a helpless shrug.

Grantaire’s only final was a portrait for an art class, so he didn’t need to study. He opted, instead, to study Enjolras’s declining health as the latter blew through pages of notes.

Grantaire was doing well in keeping silent despite the growing pile of tissues, but when Enjolras started to shiver, he had enough. He hopped to his feet and moved towards the front of the library where a group of nursing majors were studying. It was a long shot, but his trip ended in success as he started back toward Enjolras with a thermometer in hand.

“Where did you get that?” Enjolras questioned tiredly as Grantaire waved the thermometer in front of his face.

“This place is crawling with nursing majors,” Grantaire said, popping the cap off the device.

“Is that even sanitary?” Enjolras pressed before covering his nose with a tissue with just enough time to sneeze.

Grantaire waved Enjolras’s question away. “Doesn’t matter. Now, open up.”

“No.”

Grantaire’s eye twitched when Enjolras pressed his lips firmly together. He breathed in a few deep breaths, mentally calming himself before trying again.

“Prove me wrong.”

“What?”

Grantaire moved the thermometer close to Enjolras’s mouth. “I think you’re running a fever.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras quickly replied.

“Then prove me wrong.”

Enjolras seemed to contemplate this for a moment before opening his mouth. Grantaire slid the thermometer under Enjolras’s tongue, and the two waited with bated breath.

When the device finally beeped, Grantaire was slightly faster, and he snatched the thermometer from Enjolras’s mouth before the latter had a chance to react.

He sported a wide smile as he glanced at the numbers, but his smile quickly fell when the 103.1 reading fully clicked in his mind. “Fuck,” he hissed out.

“I told you I don’t-” Enjolras’s words trailed off as Grantaire thrust the thermometer in front of his face. He studied the numbers with furrowed brows. “That can’t be right.”

Grantaire pressed a palm to Enjolras’s forehead and found the heat alarming. “No. It’s definitely right. You’re burning.”

“I’m quite cold, actually,” Enjolras said, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he shivered.

“Yeah, you’re done,” Grantaire started, gathering Enjolras’s things.

“Wait, R-” Enjolras snatched a tissue and pressed it to his nose as a sneezing fit wracked his body. “I can’t-”

“You saw the number, Enj. Now, you can either come quietly with me, or I can call Joly. Take your pick.”

Enjolras shuddered at the thought of Joly getting involved, and now that he thought about it, he wasn’t feeling all that well. His head was throbbing, and he was chilled to the bone. “Fine,” he grumbled as he got to his feet, only to start swaying almost instantly.

Grantaire was quick to snake a steady arm around Enjolras’s waist. “God, Enjolras. How do you ever survive when you get sick?” He questioned as he began leading them out of the library.

“Easy. I don’t get sick.”

Grantaire breathed out a low laugh. “Then what do you call this?”

Enjolras tilted his head as if in through for a moment. “A minor setback.”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire pushed the library door open. “You are absolutely unbelievable.”


	16. High School Setting Sick R ft. A Very Worried E

Enjolras shoved past students as he eagerly made his way to Grantaire’s locker. The latter had texted “Sick. Kill me.” that morning, and Enjolras had thought for sure that Grantaire would stay home, but Courfeyrac had informed him that Grantaire’s parents never let him stay home.

Needless to say, Enjolras was on edge, and when he finally spotted the brunet, his nerves shot forward.

Grantaire was leaning his back against his locker with his arms crossed tightly over his chest as strong shivers wracked his slender frame, and even from a distance, Enjolras could see the crimson spots coloring Grantaire’s pale cheeks.

“R,” he breathed out as he closed the distance, and Grantaire blinked tiredly at him.

“Hey,” Grantaire rasped out, only to double over into a coughing fit that left Enjolras wincing.

“R, you can’t be here. You need to be in bed,” Enjolras pressed, rubbing a gentle hand in small circles over Grantaire’s back as the latter struggled to catch his breath.

“Can’t,” Grantaire wheezed out in between coughs. “Parents won’t let me.”

Enjolras frowned just as Grantaire straightened up and rubbed gingerly at his throat. “Pardon my language,” he started, “but _fuck_ your parents.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and despite feeling like hell, he smiled. “You never cease to surprise me, Enj.” He said, coughing lightly into his fist.

Enjolras shook his head before reaching up to cup Grantaire’s cheek. The heat coating his hand was alarming, and his frown deepened. “You’re running a fever,” he said sharply, sliding his hand up to Grantaire’s forehead to confirm.

“Have been since last night,” Grantaire informed, and Enjolras narrowed his eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I kept you on the phone for hours!” Enjolras shouted, hands flailing about wildly.

“I like listening to you talk,” Grantaire answered easily, and Enjolras sighed in response.

“How are you going to make it through the entire day?” Enjolras questioned carefully just as students began to pile into their classrooms.

“I’ll manage,” Grantaire answered, but even as he said it, he staggered when he pushed off the locker, and Enjolras’s worry only grew as he reached out to steady him.

“I don’t like this, R,” Enjolras said as he snaked an arm around Grantaire’s waist. “You can barely stand on your own. I don’t want to leave you.”

“You can’t exactly go to all my classes with me,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras froze, eyes bright and determined.

*****

“Enjolras,” Mr. Valjean said in surprise as Enjolras followed Grantaire, keeping one hand on the small of the brunet’s back, to the back of the classroom. “I’m pleased to see your face in my classroom once more, but don’t you have your own class to go to?”

Grantaire flopped heavily into the only remaining seat, so Enjolras sat down on the floor beside Grantaire’s desk.

“I’m going to stay with Grantaire today,” Enjolras answered as he dug around in his backpack for his science book.

“All day?”

Enjolras looked up to see Mr. Valjean standing above him with his head tilted in question.

“Yes.” Enjolras said slowly, eyes narrowed as if daring Mr. Valjean to argue.

Instead, Mr. Valjean turned toward Grantaire with raised brows.

“He thinks he needs to stay with me because I’m sick.” Grantaire answered before turning his head away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow.

On instinct, Enjolras placed a gentle hand on Grantaire’s leg as the latter coughed.

“Well, you certainly don’t sound well. Shouldn’t you be home?”

“And miss a riveting history lesson about the one and only Alexander Hamilton? I think not, sir.” 

Mr. Valjean seemed to contemplate this for a second before starting toward the front of the room while rolling his eyes. “If you need to go to the nurse, go. You don’t have to ask.”

Grantaire nodded just as Mr. Valjean called for the class to open their history books. Enjolras was quick to hand the book to Grantaire with a soft smile, and he spent the rest of the class leaning against Grantaire’s leg and reading for the science class he was currently missing.

*****

“I can’t believe you went to all of R’s classes,” Courfeyrac said at Enjolras’s locker after last bell. “I’m pretty sure I heard a group of freshman girls cooing when Cosette told them.”

Enjolras shrugged out of his jacket just as Grantaire staggered over to him from his own locker. He draped the deep red jacket over Grantaire’s black hoodie, and Grantaire shot him a thankful look.

“Javert’s not happy with you,” Combeferre said as he walked up to the three.

“I don’t really care,” Enjolras said as he brushed the back of his hand against Grantaire’s cheek, frowning hard. The brunet’s temperature felt higher than it had this morning, and if his near constant shivering and glazed eyes were anything to go by, Enjolras would say it had definitely gotten worse.  

“He’s going to Fantine to see about having you suspended.”

“What the hell?” Grantaire asked sharply, but his raised voice left him turning away as a coughing fit wracked his body.

“Easy, R.” Enjolras whispered, voice laced with concern. He placed steady hands on the brunet’s back but turned his attention to Combeferre. “He can do whatever he feels necessary. I don’t care.”

Courfeyrac laughed and shook his head. “You are something else, Enjolras. Don’t worry, though. Fantine loves you, and Combeferre and I will go and explain your situation.”

“Just get Grantaire home,” Combeferre said as he watched Grantaire with worried eyes.

Enjolras nodded, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac left toward the front office. He turned back to Grantaire, who was leaning heavily against the lockers.

“I’m taking you back to my house,” Enjolras said, leaving no room for argument in his tone, but to his surprise, Grantaire didn’t argue in the slightest.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around Grantaire’s waist, and the two started towards the school’s exit.


	17. When E and R Are Both Sick But E Doesn't Say Anything

When flu season rolled around, Enjolras and Grantaire were both struck down; however no one knew Enjolras had it.

Enjolras wasn’t one to vocally announce his ailments, so when Courfeyrac and Combeferre came over to help, he motioned the two to he and Grantaire’s shared bedroom, where Grantaire was lying in bed and audibly moaning as if in pain.

Enjolras spent his day working through house chores while Combeferre and Courfeyrac tended to Grantaire, who was sporting a pretty nasty fever.

He didn’t mind that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were spending all their time with Grantaire. In fact, he rather preferred it. He, too, wanted Grantaire well again; he knew how the brunet was when struck down with illness.

However, as the hours passed in a blur of dishes, sweeping, and laundry, the flu began to catch up to Enjolras, so he took to the couch for a small nap to try and ward off the headache pulsing up from his temples.

He was brought to by a blanket being draped over him, and he tiredly blinked away the haze coating his vision until Combeferre’s face came into view.

“Are you feeling alright?” Combeferre asked, smoothing a cool palm against Enjolras’s forehead, and Enjolras shrugged.

“You’re warm,” Combeferre supplied with a frown, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I’m okay,” he rasped out just as Courfeyrac came pounding into the living room.

“R just threw up! Like, everywhere! It was like that one scene from The Exorcist! I barely made it out alive!”

Enjolras winced at the thought just as Combeferre stood.

“Will you be okay?”

The hesitance was apparent in Combeferre’s tone, and Enjolras waved his friend away. “I’m fine. Go. R needs you.”

There was a brief pause where Combeferre seemed to contemplate this before he turned sharply on his heel and followed Courfeyrac back into Grantaire’s room.

Enjolras could faintly hear crying and gagging, and if his limbs didn’t ache mercilessly, he’d go check on Grantaire. But, he just felt so tired, and before he knew it, his eyes were drifting closed once more.

He was pulled from sleep what felt like only moments later by his stomach churning violently, but the darkness of the room told him it was much later in the evening.

The apartment was silent save the gurgling emitting from his stomach, and he struggled to his feet, swaying as his knees buckled.

But, his stomach didn’t allow him much time for it lurched violently once more, and he was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth and stumble against the swaying surroundings to get to the bathroom.

He didn’t even bother with the light switch as he staggered blindly toward the toilet, collapsing to his knees with just enough time to heave into the porcelain bowl.

There wasn’t much to come up for he hadn’t had much of an appetite over the last few days, so after a few spouts of bile, he was left dry heaving for minutes on end. But, after five more minutes, his stomach settled, and he was left trembling and panting over the toilet.

Exhaustion was creeping over every inch of his body, and he was confident he wouldn’t be able to make it back to the couch. So, he shifted around until he was curled onto his side with his back pressed against the bathtub, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

*****

“Enjolras!”

Enjolras startled awake, but as soon as he opened his eyes, he was forced to squeeze them tightly closed once more for the bright bathroom light did nothing but heighten the headache blooming across his forehead.

However, the owner of the voice clicked suddenly, and he pried his eyes open to see Grantaire crouched in front of him with his brows furrowed in concern.

“R,” he rasped out just as the brunet brushed a shaking palm against his forehead.

“Fuck,” Grantaire cursed, and Enjolras blinked in surprise.

“You’re boiling! I need to get Combeferre.”

Enjolras went to protest that he was fine, but Grantaire was already racing out of the bathroom before he found the energy to move his lips to form words.

Seconds later, and Combeferre came charging into the bathroom with Grantaire hot on his heels.

By now, Enjolras could see despite the blinding light, and he frowned when Grantaire’s pale face came into view once more.

“R,” he tried again just as Combeferre pressed a palm to his forehead. “R, you should be in bed.”

Grantaire breathed out a shaking laugh that carried no heart with it.

“You’re burning,” Combeferre muttered before moving his hand down to Enjolras’s wrist to check his pulse. “How long have you been in here?”

Enjolras thought for a moment, but his sense of time was practically nonexistent at the moment, so he only shook his head in response.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Combeferre started before sliding his hands underneath Enjolras’s arms. “We are going to get you to bed, okay?”

Enjolras nodded weakly, but when Grantaire stepped forward to help, he sharply shook his head.

“No, R. Go back to bed.” He did his best to make his voice sound commanding, but Grantaire sighed in response.

“Enjolras? Do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

Enjolras snapped his mouth closed. There were only a few times since they started dating that Grantaire had spoken harshly to him, all stemmed from worry, so he knew better then to argue with the brunet.

So, he allowed Grantaire to take one side while Combeferre took the other side, and together, the three slowly exited the bathroom and started towards the bedroom.

*****

Enjolras was slowly pulled from sleep by a solid, warm presence pushed up against his back. He breathed out an easy sigh as he lazily laced his fingers with Grantaire’s hand that was draped across his side.

“How are you feeling?” Grantaire questioned, and Enjolras trembled lightly at the hot breath against his neck while he mentally assessed himself.

His headache had dulled to a small, yet annoying, throb, and he felt warmer than he had in a while. Best, though, was the fact that the nausea plaguing him previously was gone.

“Okay,” he answered, and Grantaire squeezed his hand.

“You’re not lying to me?”

Grantaire’s voice sounded thick and rough, and Enjolras frowned at the question. “No. Really. I’m feeling okay. Not exactly one hundred percent, but okay. You?”

“Fine now that I know you’re alive.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened, and he rolled around until he was facing Grantaire with their foreheads touching. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you scared the fucking hell out of me. You’ve been out for hours, E. Twice, Ferre thought he was going to have to take you to the hospital.”

With each word, the shaking in Grantaire’s voice grew worse, and Enjolras pressed a feather light kiss against the brunet’s lips.

“I wanted to make sure you were getting the care you needed,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Grantaire suddenly sat up with a frown.

“R-”

“Could you just stop for a second, please?”

Enjolras sat up but nodded, giving Grantaire his full attention.

“I need you to not pull shit like that, Enjolras. My heart can’t handle it. I need you to tell me when you aren’t feeling well. Stop all this powering through bullshit, okay?”

Enjolras dropped his head against Grantaire’s shoulder and nodded once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it wasn’t until Grantaire wrapped an arm around his shoulders that he knew the brunet wasn’t mad.

He smiled when Grantaire pressed a kiss against the top of his head, and the two sat like that until Combeferre and Courfeyrac came in with medicine in hand.


	18. E with Strep Throat

When Enjolras woke Monday morning with a slight tickle coloring the back of his throat, he pegged it on the slow shift from summer to fall. The temperature was bouncing around like crazy, and many university students were fighting off the tell-tale signs of allergies.

However, half-way through Enjolras’s first class, the tickle had grown and spread, leaving his entire throat feeling raw and sore. He spent the entirety of class quietly clearing his throat and rubbing gingerly at it as if that action alone would soothe the dull throb.

By the time he met with his friends at lunch, his muscles were aching fiercely, and he was sweating yet shivering. The throbbing in his throat had only continued to grow, and one bite of food told him he wouldn’t be eating much for hot pain flared across his throat when he swallowed.

“You okay, Enj?”

Wincing and rubbing at his throat, Enjolras nodded. “Swallowed wrong,” he rasped out, pleased to find that Courfeyrac accepted the response well enough.

“Are you coming to Feuilly’s presentation this evening?”

The presentation was something Feuilly had been working hard on for months, and Enjolras wouldn’t miss it for the world. “Of course,” he said, voice rough and scratchy, and Courfeyrac nudged Enjolras’s water closer.

“Geez, drink something. And slow down when you eat.”

Enjolras nodded and accepted the water. While the cool splashes felt good when they brushed against his throat, actually swallowing felt as if he were swallowing glass, but he kept his facial expression neutral as he chugged a few sips.

By the time his last class ended for the day, Enjolras was confident that this was more than seasonal allergies. Shortly after lunch, a headache had begun to bloom and spread from his temples, but he pressed on. And, by the time his last class had started, he was trembling violently with chills, and his head was pounding mercilessly. 

As soon as he exited the classroom, he started toward the student lounge. Each step felt as if he were treading through mud, and the voices of other students walking around him sounded faded.

There was the usual hustle and bustle in the student lounge, and Enjolras planned to occupy a back table and nap until Feuilly’s presentation. No one ever took the back tables because they were too close to the student cafeteria, thus being a location that was too noisy; however, Enjolras could care less, and he plopped down at one.

He folded his arms atop the table then dropped his head against them and was out seconds later.

*****

“Late night?”

Enjolras blinked slowly, his surroundings coming to in waves. His headache was borderline blinding, his throat felt as if someone took a grater to it, and he felt as if he were trapped in a slab of ice. The mere action of lifting his head was exhausting.

“Shit, E?”

Grantaire’s face was doubling and tripling before his eyes, but he could still faintly make out the narrowed eyes and furrowed brows– all tell-tale signs that the brunet was concerned.

“I really don’t,” he tried, wincing as the words felt concrete and rough against his throat. “I don’t feel well.”

The audible gasp that slipped past Grantaire’s lips left Enjolras frowning, and moments later, Grantaire was crouched at his side and cupping his chin to turn his face.

When Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes once more, the brunet was sliding a hand to his forehead, hissing loudly on contact.

“Jesus, Enjolras. You’re burning.”

Enjolras could have laughed if he didn’t feel so dreadful for he felt the exact opposite, and his shivering limbs accented this.

“C-cold,” he chattered, and Grantaire was up and draping his jacket around his trembling shoulders seconds later.

“I’m going to get Combeferre. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Enjolras only nodded before dropping his head back onto his folded arms, and he could have fallen back to sleep, only, moments later, he was being nudged.

“Enjolras, can you look at me please?”

His neck felt stiff, but he forced himself to look back up, meeting Combeferre’s wide, worried eyes. He briefly looked over Combeferre’s shoulder to see Grantaire hovering close behind and gnawing lightly his thumb nail.

“What’s going on? Can you tell me how you feel?”

Keeping his eyes open was hard, but getting words out through his chattering teeth was harder. “Cold,” he managed, wincing. He opted to go silent and pointed at his throat and head to finish.

“Can you open your mouth for a moment?”

He obliged and opened his mouth, and Combeferre only glanced for one moment before rising to his feet.

“Strep,” he said, voice low and concerned. “It comes on pretty quickly, and it’s not fun.”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around his trembling frame as Combeferre and Grantaire went in and out of focus. He could barely see their lips moving, but he couldn’t hear much of anything over his heart hammering loudly in his ears.

“Enj?”

He blinked in surprise when Grantaire’s face suddenly became very close to his.

“We are going to get you back to your dorm, okay? Combeferre is on the phone with Joly about getting you antibiotics.”

Enjolras could no nothing but nod as Grantaire helped him to his feet. No sooner had he put pressure on his feet, the room began to sway just as black dots danced around his vision, but Grantaire was still there with a strong, steady arm around his waist.

“I’ve got you.” Grantaire breathed out against his ear, and Enjolras only replied by dropping his head against the brunet’s shoulder.

When Combeferre hung up, he joined Enjolras’s other side, and together, the three started walking out of the lounge, but when Enjolras spotted a flyer for Feuilly’s presentation, he froze, eyes locked onto the paper pinned to the student board.

“E?”

“Feuilly,” he rasped out, motioning weakly to the flyer.

“Oh, I’ve already told him,” Grantaire said. “When I told him you actually admitted you weren’t feeling well, he became convinced that you were dying.”

Combeferre breathed out a low laugh at his other side, and Enjolras contemplated protesting, but standing was becoming harder and harder. So he just dropped his head back against Grantaire’s shoulder, and the three started toward the dorms.


	19. Sick Cosette ft. Caretakers R and Courf and Worried, Unavailable Marius

_[1:14 pm] To Mar-Bear: yo your gf is sick_

_[1:14 pm] From Mar-Bear: What?? Cosette??_

Grantaire breathed out a laugh and showed the text to Courfeyrac, who fell back against the couch with a cackle.

_[1:15 pm] To Mar-Bear: is there another gf i should know about??_

_[1:15 pm] From Mar-Bear: OF COURSE NOT! WHAT’S WRONG WITH COSETTE??_

Grantaire and Courfeyrac sat giggling on the couch for minutes on end until Cosette shuffled in, arms crossed to combat the small shivers coursing through her slender frame.

“What’s so funny?” She questioned, voice but a soft rasp, and Grantaire tossed his phone to Courfeyrac before hopping to his feet.

“Ah, Blondie, you shouldn’t be up,” Grantaire said, humor shifting into concern as he approached Cosette.

“You guys sounded like you were having a lot of fun out here,” Cosette said, pursing her lips into a pout as she leaned against the living room door frame.

“Sorry, I guess we woke you,” Grantaire said as he pressed a palm to Cosette’s forehead, frowning at the heat. “You really ought to get back to bed,” he added, voice laced with worry.

“But, I want to know what’s got you two laughing so hard,” Cosette countered before turning to coughing lightly into the crook of her elbow.

“Your boyfriend,” Courfeyrac offered, and Cosette turned to him with a frown.

“What’s he doing?”

“Panicking,” Courfeyrac said with a light laugh. “He’s sent five more texts demanding we tell him what’s wrong with you.”

Cosette shook her head, but a small smile played at her lips. “I told you not to tell him until he got here after class.”

“That’s no fun,” Courfeyrac whined, and Cosette breathed out a low laugh, which left her coughing harshly. Grantaire was quick to put a steady hand on her back.

“Easy,” he said lowly, and Cosette nodded before allowing Grantaire to help her back into the bedroom. 

“No more getting up until Marius comes to get you,” Grantaire ordered with a frown, and Cosette waved him away with a breathy laugh as she curled up under the covers on Grantaire’s bed.

“I’ll be back in a moment with some medicine for that fever.” 

*****

“Marius said that’s he’s going to tell Enjolras on you if you don’t answer him right now,” Courfeyrac informed, voice colored with amusement, as Grantaire walked back into the living room.

Grantaire snatched the phone from Courfeyrac’s hand.

_[1:27 pm] To Mar-Bear: you better not get me in trouble with E_

_[1:27 pm] From Mar-Bear: THEN TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY COSETTE_

“He said ‘his Cosette’,” Grantaire chucked, and Courfeyrac shook his head.

“What are we going to do with that boy?” Courfeyrac asked just as Grantaire turned back to his phone.

_[1:28 pm] To Mar-Bear: aren’t you in law with E right now? shouldn’t you not be texting in class?_

There was a four-minute pause before Grantaire’s phone chimed off once more.

_[1:32 pm] From Enj :) :): If you don’t tell Marius what’s wrong with Cosette in the next five seconds, you will be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week._

Grantaire cursed under his breath. “He told E,” he griped, annoyance flaring hot as he tapped away at his phone. 

_[1:33 pm] To Enj :) :): sorry love! don’t be mad!_

_[1:33 pm] To Mar-Bear: plague_

“I told him she’s got the plague,” Grantaire informed, tossing the phone back to Courfeyrac as he started to the kitchen, with Courfeyrac’s muffled laughter following him. 

“Watch him run all the way here,” Courfeyrac called out quietly as Grantaire returned moments later with a glass of water, two pills, and a cool, damp cloth. 

“He wouldn’t,” Grantaire said with a shake of his head as he made his way back to the bedroom. 

Cosette was already sitting up, and she welcomed him back with a polite smile. 

“You’re too kind, R,” she said as he took a spot on the edge of the bed. She accepted the glass of water and the pills, and washed the small pills down with a few sips before setting the water onto the bedside table. 

Before she could lie back, Grantaire reached around her to fluff up her pillows some despite her weak protests. 

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said gently, and Cosette smiled wide. 

“You’re very good at this,” she said, falling back against the pillows when he finished. 

“I’ve got a lot or practice thanks to E’s crap immune system.” He replied easily just as he smoothed the cool, damp cloth across her forehead, prompting her to breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“I bet,” she said, eyelids already dropping, and Grantaire brushed a gentle hand against her cheek. 

“Rest. I’ll tell you when Marius gets here.” 

Cosette nodded just as Grantaire pushed the blankets up to her chin. 

*****

“So, Enjolras texted and said Marius-”

The front door slamming open cut Courfeyrac off. Marius stood, drenched in sweat and panting heavily. 

“Where,” he tried, coughing harshly into his fist. “Where is she!?” 

“Jesus,” Grantaire muttered just as Courfeyrac got to his feet and began to approach Marius. 

“Woah, easy. Try to breathe, Marius.” 

Courfeyrac’s voice was gentle, but when he dropped a hand on Marius’s shoulder, the latter swatted it away. 

“Where is Cosette?” 

“Marius?” 

All three boys jumped when Cosette shuffled into the room, head tilted in confusion. 

“Cosette,” Marius said breathlessly as he closed the distance between the two in a matter of seconds. He cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead against hers, frowning deeply at the heat. 

“Cosette, my darling,” he began. “You’re burning.” 

Grantaire went to point out that the medicine hadn’t had time to kick in but stopped when Enjolras appeared in the doorway with Combeferre in tow. Both looked fine, albeit confused, and Grantaire’s eyes fell to the car keys dangling in Combeferre’s hand. 

Grantaire sighed and dropped back against the closest wall just as Combeferre nudged Marius aside so he could briefly examine Cosette. 

He felt her forehead, pressed his fingers to the small indent of her wrist to feel her pulse, and then he gently massaged her throat for a moment before turning to Marius. 

“I’d say she’s got a bad cold. She should be fine with a little rest.” 

“R said she had the plague!” Marius snapped, pointing toward Grantaire with narrow eyes. 

“You believed him?” 

Everyone turned to Cosette, who was watching Marius with amused eyes. 

“I was worried!” 

Cosette shook her head as she giggled into her palm. “There was no need. R was taking great care of me.” 

Courfeyrac took the small distraction to sneak out, motioning for Combeferre to go with him. 

“Bye,” he called over his shoulder before he darted out of the room. 

“Call if you need anything,” Combeferre added as he pulled his car keys out and followed Courfeyrac out the door. 

Marius shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across Cosette’s shoulders before snatching Grantaire’s car keys and Cosette’s shoes. He glared at Grantaire. “I’ll be taking your car for right now.” 

Grantaire motioned for him to go ahead just as Marius snaked an arm around Cosette’s waist. 

“Thank you again, R,” Cosette called out softly as Marius led her to the door. Her lips curled up into a gentle smile when Grantaire offered a nod. 

“Of course, Blondie” he said, and moments later, Enjolras was closing the door behind Marius and Cosette. 

Grantaire was quick to close the distance between the two, draping his arms across Enjolras’s shoulder. “Am I banished to the couch?” 

Enjolras sighed. “It would have been a definite yes, but I’m inclined to reconsider now that I know you took good care of Cosette.” 

Grantaire smiled wide, and he pressed his lips against Enjolras’s. 


	20. Sick R Passing Out In Front of E and Joly

When Grantaire woke to a pounding head, he knew he was in for a long day; however he didn’t have time to rest. He knew that to others, he seemed to be laid back with loads of free time, but he had shit to do too.

He’d been tasked with creating sample flyers for the monthly rally over affordable health care being led by Enjolras and Joly, and the two agreed that they wanted an authentic theme to the flyers, meaning Grantaire had to create each one by hand.

Procrastination got the best of him, so he had ended up attempting two all-nighters mere days before the rally. But, he had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of the second night, only to wake from a massive headache blooming across his forehead hours later.

Light was pouring in through his cracked blinds, and one frantic glance toward his wall clock told him he was about an hour late to Enjolras’s apartment where he would present the flyers.

His phone was flashing with multiple missed calls, and he scrambled out of his desk chair. However, the second he put pressure on his feet, the room started to tilt, and he swayed with it as his bedroom surroundings blurred in and out of focus.

It took five minutes of deep breathing before he was able to move without feeling as if he would faint, and he quickly shifted into overdrive. He tossed a coat over his hoodie in the hopes of warding off the chill clinging to his bones and snatched up the sample flyers before shooting a quick text saying “on my way” and bolting out of his apartment.

*****

“Sorry,” Grantaire said breathlessly as he entered Enjolras’s apartment. The latter’s face was pinched and stern, but Grantaire easily ignored it for his focus was solely on making it into the apartment without collapsing. The dizziness from before was back, but years of drunken back alley walking have taught him how to walk in a straight line with a fuzzy head.

He zoomed past the coat rack, opting to keep his coat on for he was freezing despite the heat pouring off his face. The tell-tale signs of illness were there, but he pushed his ailments aside as Enjolras and Joly approached him.

“I was only able to make eight samples,” he said, offering the slightly crumpled papers to Enjolras. “I know you said you wanted at least ten, but I kind of forgot…”

Enjolras and Joly were silent as the glanced through the flyers, and Grantaire watched with bated breath. However, when the two got to the fourth flyer, he started to feel hot, boiling even.

Sweat was pricking uncomfortably across the back of his neck, and he all but ripped his coat off. However, it wasn’t enough. It felt as if lava were mixing with his blood, and he was just about to tug his hoodie off when everything went black.

*****

Enjolras and Joly froze as Grantaire crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap. Both stared with blank faces as time seemed to stop, but soon enough, Joly was shifting into doctor mode and dropping to the floor beside the brunet.

He placed a hand to the brunet’s forehead, only to jerk it back at the alarming heat. “He’s boiling,” he said, voice wavering.

Enjolras frowned. “He’s sick? He never gets sick.”

Joly moved his hand to Grantaire’s wrist and pressed two fingers to the small indent, feeling a rapid pulse thumping beneath his fingers. He then moved back to Grantaire’s face and pried the brunet’s eyes open to get a better look at how conscious he was.

“I know, but he’s definitely sick right now.”

Enjolras eyed the brunet nervously. “What do we do?” Panic was pushing up his throat, but he forced it down with a big swallow.

Joly shook his head with a low sigh. “We need to get him to bed, and if possible, get a reading on this fever.” His voice was firm and authoritative, and it masked the worry coursing through him.

The next few minutes were difficult to say the least. Enjolras and Joly managed to get Grantaire up and into Enjolras’s bed, but their panic only grew when Grantaire didn’t wake in the slightest the entire time.

“This isn’t good,” Joly said minutes later with a thermometer reading 103.4 degrees.

“Hospital?” Enjolras asked, voice weak and shaky, but he breathed out a small sigh when Joly shook his head.

“Not yet. I’m going to call Combeferre.” Joly left the room, and with nothing else to do, Enjolras took a spot at the edge of the bed and dipped the cloth Joly left into the bowl of ice water sitting on the night stand.

He smoothed the now damp cloth over Grantaire’s burning brow and repeated this for minutes on end until Grantaire stirred.

Enjolras froze, hand hovering over Grantaire’s face. “R?” He asked softly.

Grantaire blinked away the haziness clouding his vision until Enjolras’s wide, worried eyes came into view. “Wha?”

“You fainted,” Enjolras supplied, keeping his voice quiet as to not irritate the brunet with loud sounds.

“Shit,” Grantaire breathed out, wincing at his pounding head.

“Yeah, shit,” Enjolras repeated, voice low and firm. “Why didn’t you say you were sick?”

“I’m not,” Grantaire said flatly, and he struggled into a sitting position and was just about to swing his legs over the bed when Enjolras stopped him with a strong hand to his chest.

“What the hell are you doing? You’ve got a very high fever. You’re clearly sick.” Enjolras’s voice was clipped, and his pinched expression matched his tone.

“Doesn’t matter,” Grantaire pressed. “I’ve got stuff to do.” He once again tried to get out of the bed but froze when Enjolras shouted.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras’s tone was angry, but it was very obviously laced with concern, and Grantaire frowned and tilted his head.

“You literally passed out not even twenty minutes ago! You’ve got a fever over 103 degrees! You’re clearly sick, and the only thing you need to do right now is fucking sleep, okay!?”

Enjolras breathed out a deep exhale once the words left his mouth, and Grantaire could do nothing but nod, too overwhelmed to form a coherent sentence.

Grantaire fell back against the pillow and silently allowed Enjolras to pull the covers back up to his chin just as Joly walked back into the room.

“Why were you shouting? Oh, R! You’re awake!” Joly moved toward the bed, shooting the brunet a soft smile.

“He tried to get out of bed,” Enjolras said, voice slightly annoyed.

“Oh, you aren’t going to want to do that,” Joly said as he pressed a palm to Grantaire’s forehead. “Now, tell me something. When’s the last time you’ve had a full meal and a full night of sleep.”

The fact that Grantaire had to think about it left Joly bolting from the room while muttering about how incompetent all of his friends were.

With Enjolras and Grantaire alone once more, Enjolras dropped his elbows to his knees and raked his fingers through his hair. “Did you ignore eating and sleeping to get the flyers done?”

Grantaire remained silent, and that was enough of an answer for Enjolras. He looked up and met Grantaire’s somber eyes.

“You didn’t have to. Joly and I were sold after viewing the first one.”

“You said you wanted ten,” Grantaire countered weakly, prompting Enjolras to sigh.

“I know. I don’t know why I said that. Doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you should never neglect taking care of yourself for me.”

Grantaire breathed out a low laugh. “That’s gold coming from you.”

Enjolras shook his head, but his lips curled up into a soft smile. “Hush,” he scolded harmlessly.

The two fell silent once more, but after a few moments, Enjolras cleared his throat and broke their gaze. “You should get back to sleep. I need to go see what Joly is up to.” He got to his feet and started toward the door but stopped, gripping the door-frame with one hand.

“Don’t,” he started, voice low. “Don’t do that again,” he finished.

“No promises,” Grantaire teased weakly, and Enjolras huffed before exiting the room.


	21. Enjoltaire ft. Sick E

When Enjolras froze mid sentence, color drained from his face, Grantaire jumped from his computer desk chair and was at Enjolras’s side in seconds.

Enjolras teetered dangerously to the left, but Grantaire was there with a steady hand to the small of Enjolras’s back.

“Enj?” He asked, lips brushing gently against Enjolras’s ear. Even through the thick, red sweater, Grantaire could feel the heat rolling off of Enjolras, and his lips curled down into a deep frown.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras tried, but his voice wavered, and he brought a hand to his forehead as his surroundings blurred in and out of focus.

“Come sit,” Grantaire urged, kicking away art supplies as he lead Enjolras to the bed.

Enjolras stumbled with each step, but Grantaire was a steady force beside him, and seconds later, he was seated on the edge of the bed with Grantaire crouched in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Grantaire questioned with furrowed brows. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he placed a gentle hand to Enjolras’s knee.

“Nothing,” Enjolras pressed as he blinked away the dizziness clouding his vision. “I just felt light-headed suddenly.”

Grantaire tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied Enjolras. The latter’s face was ghostly pale save the crimson flush spread high across his cheeks. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and soft tremors coursed through his body.

On instinct, Grantaire reached up to press a palm to Enjolras’s forehead, and to his surprise, the latter leaned into the touch with a low sigh.

The heat coating Grantaire’s palm was alarming, and with a deep frown, he flipped his hand and brushed his knuckles down to Enjolras’s cheek. Not that he was expecting anything different, but the heat from Enjolras’s cheek was just as hot, as intense, as his forehead.

He dropped his hand to the crook between Enjolras’s neck and shoulder, thumb stroking gently across the overheated skin. But despite his calm, steady hand, his heart was hammering a mile a minute.

“You’re burning up,” he said, voice shaking slightly.

Enjolras only hummed in response as he placed a trembling hand over the hand cupping the crook of his neck.

“You should have said something,” Grantaire pressed, concern coloring his tone. “We could have worked on this project at literally any other time.”

“I know,” Enjolras breathed out weakly. “But I wanted to spend time with you.”

Grantaire froze, and his eyes grew wide. “Is this the fever talking?” He whispered.

“Maybe,” Enjolras admitted quietly. “Or maybe the fever is helping me speak the truth.”

Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath, and before he knew it, he was pushing up on his feet and wrapping strong, slender arms around Enjolras.

Enjolras groaned in response, and Grantaire quickly pulled away to see Enjolras’s eyes screwed shut and forehead creased in pain.

“Shit, sorry,” he rambled, hands hovering over Enjolras as if the slightest touch would further pain the boy.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras managed out through clenched teeth. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and the sound of his voice alone was further irritating it.

“What can I do?” Grantaire questioned quickly, and he was about to stand, but a grip on his wrist stopped him.

“Hold that hug for when I’m feeling better,” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.

“Just a hug?” Grantaire tried, voice a mixture of teasing and worry.

Enjolras rose a brow just as his lips curled into a light smile. “We’ll see.”


	22. Courfeyhan Ficlet ft. Sick Courf

When Courfeyrac got struck down with the flu that had been spreading throughout his law class, he was sent to strict bed-rest by a very tired and very irritated Combeferre.

Courfeyrac didn’t do well when being confined to his bed, but he was blessed with the most beautiful and most patient boyfriend the world had to offer.

“Jehan,” Courfeyrac whined, drawing out the name. “Love, I’m cold again,” he said, shivering hard to exaggerate the point.

Jehan nodded, eyes sympathetic, as he retrieved the extra blanket from the chair and draped it across the brunet’s shoulders. “Better?” He questioned, keeping his tone light and soft as to not irritate Courfeyrac’s head.

Courfeyrac nodded, but a small whimper slipped past his lips that left Jehan’s heart leaping up his throat.

“What is it, darling?” Jehan asked, voice laced with worry, as he took a spot on the edge of the bed. He took of one Courfeyrac’s hands in both of his, and caressed his thumbs gently over the brunet’s trembling hand.

“I’m still cold,” Courfeyrac said through chattering teeth, and Jehan frowned, leaning over to brush Courfeyrac’s bangs away in order to press the back of his hand to the brunet’s forehead. The heat was more intense then before, and Jehan figured this was one of what could be many fever spikes that accompanied this strain of the flu.

“Oh, love,” Jehan cooed. “I’m sorry. I believe your fever is spiking, but you can’t have any more medicine for another hour.”

Courfeyrac nodded before he dropped his gaze to his covered lap. Strong shivers wracked his frame, and his entire body felt as if it had been dipped into a bath of ice.

Jehan plucked through his mind before crawling fully onto the bed toward Courfeyrac.

“Jehan, what are you-”

Jehan shushed Courfeyrac as he positioned himself beside the latter. He wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac, pulling the brunet down against his chest.

“Love, you’ll catch this awful flu.” Courfeyrac tried, but even as he said it, he snuggled further into Jehan’s warmth.

“That’s alright,” Jehan said fondly as he began combing his fingers through Courfeyrac’s unruly curls. “I’d take anything thrown my way if it meant making you comfortable even if just for a moment.”

Courfeyrac breathed out a sigh, and he drifted off with the warm image of Jehan’s pure smile lighting up his dreams.


	23. R Getting Beat Up Then Drinking Away His Problems ft. Caretaker E

While everyone knew that Grantaire didn’t support the Les Amis, they knew he supported Enjolras, and that was the sole reason he showed up to every single meeting.

So when Grantaire was absent from Friday’s evening meeting at the Musain, the group grew suspicious.

“He was fine during class,” Jehan supplied.

Enjolras knew this; he had spent the better half of the day arguing with the brunet during their shared English and Law classes, so the fact that Grantaire was missing left an odd feeling resonating within his stomach.

“He’s not answering his phone,” Courfeyrac said with furrowed brows.

“He never answers his phone,” Bahorel countered, but Enjolras ignored the chatter in favor of gathering his things.

“Is the noble emperor going to check on his jester?”

Enjolras shot a piercing glare toward the bartender but kept his lips pressed firmly closed. He started quickly toward the door, only stopping when a hand dropped onto his shoulder.

He turned half-way around to see Jehan at his side.

“Do you want me to go with you? I’m worried.”

Jehan’s hushed, worried tone only left Enjolras feeling more uneasy than he already was, but he shook his head.

“I can handle this.” With that, he turned on his heel and started toward the door.

*****

Fear mixed with concern when Enjolras found Grantaire’s apartment door unlocked. He briefly debated calling the police, but all thoughts came to a halt when his eyes fell onto the few drops of blood on the old, worn-out welcome mat.

Shoving the door open, Enjolras quickly stepped inside, eyes scanning everywhere for the brunet. No one was in sight, but Enjolras caught a glimpse of a small trail of blood leading toward the bedroom, and he followed it all the way to the closed door.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Grantaire,” he called out, keeping his voice firm despite the fear and worry coursing through his body.

Shuffling sounded from the other side of the door, but no verbal response came. Enjolras took a deep breath before he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black, with the only light filtering in from the living room. He could faintly make out the brunet lying on the bed, and the soft clinking sounds told him that Grantaire had gotten into the alcohol again.

Annoyance replaced any remaining fear and concern, and Enjolras flipped the light switch on with a sigh; however, whatever scold that was at the tip of his tongue trailed off when the bright, bedroom lights illuminated Grantaire’s bloody, battered form.

“What the fuck?” Grantaire slurred, squinting against the blinding lights as he brought the bottle to his lips.

Enjolras cursed under his breath and moved toward the brunet. “What happened?” He questioned harshly as his eyes moved from the cut stretching down from Grantaire’s hairline to his left eyebrow, to the deep, black bruise surrounding Grantaire’s right eye, then down to the faint, hand-shaped bruise covering the brunet’s neck.

There was blood covering the lower part of Grantaire’s shirt, and Enjolras could only imagine what kind of injuries were hidden behind it.

Grantaire blinked up at him, eyes struggling to focus. “What’re you doing here?” He questioned, words fumbling together.

“What happened?” Enjolras repeated as one hand hovered above Grantaire’s torso.

Grantaire rolled his head until he was facing the ceiling. “Got beat up.” He brought the beer bottle back to his lips and lifted his head long enough to take a long swig.

“Clearly,” Enjolras spit out. He pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “Who did this?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grantaire muttered.

“Like hell it does!” Enjolras snapped, flailing his arms around. “You look like hell! Someone choked you!” He motioned toward the hand-shaped bruise covering Grantaire’s neck.

He breathed out a low breath and narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Who did this?” He repeated.

Sighing, Grantaire dropped the almost empty bottle to the floor with a loud clink before pushing up into a sitting position, wincing the entire way up.

Enjolras watched with a deepening frown. By the time Grantaire was in a sitting position, his face was scrunched up in pain, and he kept one arm wrapped around his stomach.

The silence that followed was grating on Enjolras’s nerves, but he figured tending to the brunet should be priority. “Can you stand?”

Nodding, Grantaire pushed up on shaking legs. He swayed as dark spots danced across his vision, but Enjolras was quick to place a steady hand to the small of his back.

With Enjolras’s firm support, the two moved to the bathroom. Enjolras lightly pushed Grantaire down onto the closed toilet seat before turning to rummage through a cabinet for supplies. He came up with a few washcloths, some basic bandages, aspirin, and a roll of gauze.

It wasn’t much, but it would do for now. He turned back to Grantaire, who was slumped over with his elbows propped against his knees.

“Shirt off,” Enjolras ordered, and to his surprise, Grantaire obliged without any sexual teasing.

Enjolras gasped despite himself. There was a long, bleeding gash stretching from Grantaire’s left hip up to right below his belly button.

“It’s not that bad,” Grantaire tried quietly.

“Shut up,” Enjolras countered, voice annoyed but laced with a deep hint of concern. He crouched in front of Grantaire and studied the gash long enough to know he couldn’t handle this wound specifically for it looked too deep, too irritated.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he started toward the door. “Stay right here.” He added firmly as he exited the bathroom. He fished his phone out of his coat pocket before shedding his coat and draping it over Grantaire’s desk chair.

He pressed Combeferre’s speed dial number before balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled his hair back into a messy bun.

_“Enjolras? Did you find R?”_

With his hair up, Enjolras grabbed the phone and began pacing the bedroom. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He glanced toward the pile of beer bottles beside the bed with a frown. “I found him beat up and knee-deep in alcohol.”

_“Is he okay?”_

That, Enjolras thought, was the winning question of the night. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But he’s got a pretty deep cut across his stomach that I don’t think I can handle.” His words were followed by a shuffling sound.

_“I can be there in twenty.”_

“Thank you,” Enjolras breathed out before hanging up. He slipped his phone into his front pocket before he went back into the bathroom.

Grantaire was right where he left him, and Enjolras reclaimed a spot beside the brunet and went to work. He took damp washcloths, and cleaned away the blood from the cut across Grantaire’s forehead while he had Grantaire pressing a towel to the wound on his stomach.

Enjolras worked silently despite his mind running a mile a minute, but after ten minutes of cleaning and disinfecting, Grantaire cleared his throat.

“People suck,” Grantaire started, and Enjolras hummed in response.

“I got jumped.”

Enjolras froze for a few moments before he slowly pulled his hand back from the bruise he was lightly prodding. He met Grantaire’s eyes and silently willed the brunet to continue.

“I was on my way to the meeting. Some guys came out of a back alley and started yelling at me. You know me– I opened my big mouth, and next thing I knew, I was being slammed against the wall by a hand gripping my neck. I fought back the best that I could, but…”

Fury boiled within Enjolras’s blood, but he remained silent.

“I think I blacked out sometime after one of the guys whipped a knife out because I woke up looking like this,” Grantaire paused, weakly morning toward himself. “I decided to say fuck it and went home. Sorry I missed the meeting.”

Enjolras got to his feet from his crouched position. Angry, red colors clouded his vision. “What did they look like?”

“You aren’t going on a manhunt, Enj,” Grantaire said tiredly as he absently rubbed at his throat.

“I’ll take Bahorel,” Enjolras started, already plotting in his head, but he froze when Grantaire struggled to his feet.

“I’m not going to let you get hurt for me. I’m not worth it.”

It was as if a small twig snapped in Enjolras’s mind, but it was enough because next thing he knew, he was yelling. “When are you going to realize that you are worth it!?”

Grantaire’s eyes went wide, and his knees buckled until he fell back against the toilet seat.

Enjolras took in a few shaking breaths. “I… Sorry. I just- I’m…” He struggled to find words, but luckily, Grantaire stepped in.

“You think I’m worth it?”

Grantaire’s voice was small, and Enjolras sighed. “Christ. Yes. You are worth everything, R.”

Just as the words left Enjolras’s mouth, Combeferre pushed the bathroom door open with a light smile. “Am I interrupting?”

Enjolras shook his head and stepped around Combeferre to leave the bathroom. “Just fix him,” he muttered, annoyed, before he closed the bathroom door.

His heart was hammering hard against his chest, and his face felt hot and flushed. He knew their conversation wasn’t over, but for now, Grantaire was getting the help he needed, so Enjolras opted to attempt to distract himself by cleaning Grantaire’s room, starting with the beer bottles littering the floor.


	24. E Having A Shitty Day While Sick and Caretaker R

People had bad days, and when Enjolras woke to a painful coughing fit that left him doubled over and gasping for breath, he knew he was in for a crap day.

Nevertheless, he had too much to do to take a sick day, so he fought against the dizziness coating his vision and got ready for class.

His phone blinked with three new texts from Grantaire, but before he could thumb through them, a call from his father came through. With a sigh, he swiped to answer.

“Hey, Da-”

_“Are your grades slipping?”_

Enjolras frowned. “No, why?”

_“Javert emailed me and said you were slipping in his law class. I don’t give that school money for you to fuck everything up!”_

Enjolras’s heart began to hammer hard against his chest, and he turned away from the phone to cough harshly into his fist. “I’m not-”

_“It’s that boy, isn’t it? Grantaire? He’s a bad influence on you, Enjolras. You shouldn’t be with him.”_

The counter-argument that Grantaire had some of the highest grades at the university were hot on his tongue, but Enjolras knew it was pointless. His father would never listen to him, so he only sighed in response.

_“Get your shit together, or I’m cutting you off for good.”_

After the harsh statement, Enjolras was met with the soft chime indicating that the call ended, but he kept the small device pressed to his ear because he suddenly couldn’t move. His father’s words echoed back at him as he struggled to get a solid breath in.

He felt as if hands were squeezing the breath right from his lungs. When he sucked in a forced breath, he ended up doubled over in a coughing fit that left his eyes watering. His vision wavered in and out of focus as he coughed and coughed, and he briefly thought he was going to black out. But after a few more moments, he was left with a few, weak coughs slipping past his lips.

His entire body was trembling, and he reached with a shaking hand to retrieve his phone he dropped onto the floor. He absently scrolled through his messages as he grabbed his coat and bag and started out the door.

*****

“Do we really have to have a meeting tonight? I mean what’s the point? It’s not like the rally is going to change anything…”

Enjolras glanced up from the food he was pushing around at Courfeyrac’s words. He turned to cough into the crook of his elbow before clearing his throat.

“We have to use our voices to change things. We can’t just remain silent.” He spit out as he fought against a shiver.

Since arriving at school, he had begun to feel cold all over, and the splitting headache that came with it told him he probably had a fever.

Combeferre and Joly were busy at the school clinic, and he hasn’t seen Grantaire all day because the brunet was frantically working on an art analysis paper. He was left with Courfeyrac, Marius, and Bahorel for lunch.

“I know you mean well, Enjolras. But we’ve planned five rallies so far, but nothing has changed.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at Marius before he got to his feet. “Nothing will change if you keep an attitude like that.” With that, he turned on his heel and started back into the school building. 

Soft tremors coursed through his body as his stomach twisted with anxiety. He knew that nothing had yet to change around the school in terms of positive LGBTQ+ representation, but they couldn’t stop. So many people were relying on them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a coughing fit tearing up his throat. He gripped at the closest wall as he coughed and coughed into his fist for minutes on end. His lungs crackled and wheezed from the strain, and once he was finally able to get in a solid breath, he decided he had enough.

He swapped his course towards the school’s exit and started toward his and Grantaire’s apartment.

*****

The normally five minute walk took Enjolras thirty minutes because he could hardly breathe. His vision was swimming, and his head was throbbing mercilessly by the time he entered the apartment. He dropped his bag onto the floor and curled up on the couch, still in his coat and shoes.

He was shivering hard, and he knew that meant his fever was probably rising, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to get up and get medicine. Instead, he rubbed softly at his chest as he took in short, choppy breaths in order to avoid a coughing fit.

He lied like that for minutes, and before he knew it, he was crying hard. He drew his knees to his chest as loud sobs slipped past his lips. He didn’t know what he was going to do if his father cut him off. He and Grantaire would end up homeless. He could get a job, but his school load was already teetering just over the line of too many classes.

On top of that, he was losing the faith of the Les Amis, and he had no idea how to draw them back in.

He felt as if his world was crumbling. He lied there crying, shivering, and coughing until he fell into a fitful sleep.

*****

“Okay, he’s here.”

Grantaire’s voice followed by the apartment door closing was enough to pull Enjolras from sleep. He blinked tired eyes open as the brunet moved closer to him.

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, Ferre.” Grantaire snapped his phone shut before crouching down in front of Enjolras. “Hey, what’s going on? You never miss a meeting.”

Grantaire’s voice was so soft, so gentle, that Enjolras sat up and wrapped shaking arms around the brunet as a new round of crying took hold.

Grantaire was quick to return the hug, but the worry swelling within his chest only grew. “Enj? What’s wrong?” He asked, voice trembling slightly.

Enjolras shook his head, but when he opened his mouth to talk, another coughing fit took hold that left him frantically pushing away from Grantaire and coughing harshly over and over into the crook of his elbow. He could feel Grantaire moving to his side on the couch, and the steady hand on his back was more than welcomed.

He coughed and coughed until his vision began to blur, but he pushed his focus toward Grantaire’s soothing presence, and after another minute, he was left sucking in sharp, ragged breaths as he sagged against Grantaire’s side.

“Okay,” Grantaire said slowly. He brushed his knuckles against Enjolras’s cheek, not surprised at the intense heat. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Since this morning,” Enjolras rasped out, snuggling further into Grantaire’s warmth as another round of shivers took course through his body.

Grantaire tightened an arm around Enjolras’s shoulders with a frown. “Is that why you were crying?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t know what to do, R,” he whispered, and Grantaire tensed beside him. “My dad is threatening to cut me off because my grades are slipping. The Les Amis are losing faith, and I don’t know what to do to fix any of this. I’m failing on all ends.”

Grantaire made a mental note to talk to those who were apparently losing faith in their cause. He cleared his throat and got to his feet, turning until he was once again crouched in front of Enjolras. He took Enjolras’s hands in both of his.

“In the nicest way possible, your father can suck my dick. I told you before that I can handle a job and school. We don’t need his money, E.”

Enjolras shook his head while pulling a hand away and coughing harshly into his fist. “No, I’m not going to ask you to do that.” He wheezed out.

“You don’t have to ask because I’m just going to do it,” Grantaire stated firmly. “I would do anything for you, and honestly, I can’t stand how stressed out your father makes you.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to argue further, but Grantaire stopped him.

“No. Okay, listen we can talk about this later, but right now, you really need medicine and rest. You’re burning up, and you sound like you are going to cough up a lung. I’m not too convinced right now that I shouldn’t call Combeferre back.”

“Don’t,” Enjolras muttered in between light coughs. “I’m okay” he tried, but when he went to stand, everything swayed, and he fell against Grantaire’s chest.

“You really aren’t,” Grantaire snapped back, but the concern coloring his tone was very evident. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Enjolras nodded and allowed Grantaire to help him to the bedroom.

While Enjolras changed, Grantaire stepped out to call Combeferre, and when he returned, Enjolras was curled up under the blankets and already half asleep.

“Combeferre is going to come over for a bit to see if you need a hospital or not,” Grantaire said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Enjolras. He leaned over and cupped Enjolras’s cheek. “Everything is going to be just fine, okay? All I want you to do right now is to rest. I’m going to be right here the entire time.”

Enjolras didn’t realize those were words he needed to hear until they were said, and he felt the anxiety that had been running rampant throughout his body settle significantly.

He wasn’t sure what would happen in the future, but for right now, he knew he would be able to handle it as long as Grantaire was at his side.


	25. Sick Marius and Some Not Believing Him

“I’m pretty sure I’m sick.” Marius said to his friends during class while massaging his forehead. He had woken up that morning feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold, and his stomach had been cramping painfully while his head had been throbbing.

As he went to his classes, he found that he was growing steadily worse. He couldn’t stomach anything thanks to the twisting cramps, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate because of the pounding headache blooming hot behind his eyes.

“You aren’t sick,” Courfeyrac said, eyes scanning Marius’s face. “You are normally all freaking out and pale and shit when sick.”

“Yeah, your face is like the exact opposite of pale right now,” Bahorel added, tapping his cheek. “You look like you had one too many shots.”

Marius sighed and turned his attention back to his law book. The words were blurring together, forming long, jumbled strings of letters, and he shook his head while blinking rapidly to try and clear his focus.

However, the small movement only made things worse, and he shut his book with a low sigh. “I’m going to skip,” he said to Courfeyrac and Bahorel while struggling to his feet.

He teetered dangerously on his feet as he shouldered his bag and exited the room. The hallway was moving in slow waves and he rocked back and forth with it as he staggered out of the school building with no real direction in mind.

*****

Marius pushed the doors of the Musain open before moving one arm back to his churning stomach. Sweat was sliding down his neck and soaking his shirt collar, but he couldn’t stop shivering.

The bartender took one, sharp look toward Marius before disappearing into the back, meeting room, only to return moments later with Enjolras hot on his heels.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked sharply with a frown as he approached Marius. “I told Cosette to tell you to stay home if you were sick?”

Marius blinked slowly at Enjolras. He could see the latter’s mouth moving, but he was having trouble hearing words over the loud pounding of his heart in his ears.

His stomach suddenly lurching had him pushing past Enjolras to the closest bathroom. He shoved a stall door open with just enough time to collapse to his knees and heave into the toilet.

Enjolras was crouched behind Marius and rubbing a soothing hand over the brunet’s back while firing off texts to Combeferre with his free hand.

This went on for minutes on end until finally, Marius’s stomach settled. He blindly reached up to flush the toilet before slumping over the cool porcelain with a groan.

“If you are finished, we should get you to a proper chair. It would be more comfortable.”

Marius nodded and allowed Enjolras to pull him to his feet. He staggered, but Enjolras kept a tight grip on his elbow as the two walked into the meeting room.

Enjolras eased Marius into a booth before turning back to the main bar with a promise to return shortly.

Marius could faintly hear Enjolras’s angry hushed voice, and their were frantic voices that followed. Seconds later, Enjolras pushed back into the room with Combeferre and Courfeyrac trailing behind.

“He’s clearly sick!” Enjolras spit out while motioning sharply toward Marius. “How could you say he’s not?” He moved until he was crouched in front of Marius and placed a palm to the brunet’s forehead, but Marius jerked his head away.

“You shouldn’t,” Marius rasped out. “You’ll get sick. You’ve already been too close as it is.”

Enjolras huffed. “Nonsense. I’ll be fine.”

Combeferre took this time to step forward while nudging Enjolras to the side. “You literally get sick if someone sneezes in the same room as you.”

“I do not,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre started slowly as he crouched beside Marius. He glanced over his shoulder to meet Enjolras’s eyes. “Go stand as far away as possible before I call Grantaire to come get you.”

Enjolras frowned but moved toward the small stage where he spoke during meetings. He turned his attention back toward his meeting papers while Combeferre examined Marius.

“Have you been running a fever this high all day?” Combeferre asked, voice laced with worry, but Marius just shrugged in response.

“I’m really sorry,” Courfeyrac said as he hovered just behind Combeferre. “You just weren’t acting like how you usually act when sick.”

“That’s probably because he’s very sick,” Combeferre said as he kept his fingers pressed to the small indent on Marius’s wrist. “I want him back at my apartment for right now so I can monitor him.”

“Is he that bad? Does he need a hospital?”

Enjolras turned from his papers. “He needs a hospital?”

“No, Christ,” Combeferre breathed out with a sigh as he helped Marius to his feet. “He’s probably just got a bad strain of the flu, but I want to keep an eye on him.” With one hand on Marius’s back, Combeferre turned to face Enjolras. “We will be missing tonight’s meeting.”

Enjolras got to his feet. “Of course,” he said. “Keep me updated please.”

“What can I do?” Courfeyrac asked as Combeferre started toward the door with Marius.

“Text Cosette,” Marius called out weakly over his shoulder. “Tell her where I’ll be.”

Courfeyrac nodded and watched with a frown as the two left the meeting room. He pulled his phone from his pocket, only to freeze at the sound of a stifled sneeze coming from the stage. He slowly turned his head to see Enjolras sniffling and rubbing absently at his nose while shuffling through papers.

“Shit,” Courfeyrac breathed out. He bypassed his text conversation with Cosette in favor of shooting a quick text to Grantaire instead. 


	26. R Shivery and Sick and Drinking Wine To Try and Warm Up and Unknowing E

Grantaire huddled further into the small booth he was occupying while he kept trembling hands wrapped tightly around his third glass of wine. His head was throbbing worse than a hangover after a night out with Bahorel, and he felt chilled to the bone despite the heat blasting out from the vents above him. 

His bed called to him, but he refused to leave, not without Enjolras. The latter had been working late nights at the Musain recently, and Grantaire was beside himself with worry. So, he had been staying the hours and hours after meetings to make sure that Enjolras got home safely and got to sleep. It was the least he could do since the two were still fairly new into their relationship. 

He kept his eyes trained on Enjolras, who was hunched over multiple documents a few tables away, while he sipped absently at his glass of wine. He had hoped that the alcohol would fend off the chills and dull his pounding head, and while it offered brief relief, it wasn’t enough to ward off the shivers that left his muscles aching fiercely or dial down the pain flaring hot across his head. 

He polished off the glass and motioned for the bartender to bring another when Enjolras came storming over. 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Enjolras spit out sharply as he took in the deep flush coloring high on Grantaire’s cheeks. “Christ, are you drunk?” 

Grantaire winced for Enjolras’s booming voice felt like knives piercing his mind, but he was quick to shake his head. “I’m not,” he struggled out through chattering teeth. 

Huffing out a harsh laugh, Enjolras crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Really? Then why are you shaking so hard?” 

“I’m freezing,” Grantaire mumbled, wrapping both arms tightly around himself. With the absence of wine, he was left with strong, deep shivers coursing through him. 

Frowning, Enjolras stole a glance down to his arms where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves to fend off the heat of the room before he slowly shifted his gaze back up to Grantaire. It took a second, but his mind caught up to the situation, and next thing he knew, he was dropping to his knees beside the brunet. 

He gently brushed the back of his fingers to Grantaire’s cheek and sucked in a sharp gasp at the boiling heat. “R,” he breathed out, voice thick with worry. He cupped Grantaire’s chin and gently pulled until the brunet was fully facing him, and then he pressed a flat palm straight to Grantaire’s forehead to confirm the worrying temperature. 

“You’re really sick,” Enjolras whispered with furrowed brows, and Grantaire could only nod helplessly in response. 

“You should be in bed.” 

Shrugging, Grantaire rubbed one hand against his head. “I want to stay to make sure you get home and get sleep.” 

Breathing out a deep sigh, Enjolras shook his head. “I can make it home by myself, R. I’m an adult.” 

“I know, but I’m worried,” Grantaire pressed, keeping his voice firm despite the chills wracking his slender frame. “Someone has to make sure you sleep.” 

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but thoughts of multiple, sleepless nights consisting of getting lost in work flashed hot across his mind. He closed his mouth and offered a small nod. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he supplied while taking one of Grantaire’s shaking hands in his. “I didn’t realize.” 

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said with a shaking breath. He frowned just as the chills picked up in intensity, and he dropped his forehead against Enjolras’s shoulder with a light groan. 

Enjolras was quick to wrap steady arms around the trembling brunet. He rubbed his hands up and down Grantaire’s back to provide even a small ounce of heat even though he knew the chills were a product of the nasty fever Grantaire was sporting. 

“Let’s go back to my place. I want to take care of you.” 

Grantaire pulled away with a frown. “That’s not necessary.” 

“I insist. Besides, I owe you for all the times you’ve been looking out for me.” 

Despite how he felt, Grantaire’s lips quirked up into a teasing smile. “So you are finally going to let me spend the night?” 

Enjolras shoved lightly at Grantaire’s shoulder. “Don’t be so obnoxious,” he said, voice matching the smile coloring his lips. 


	27. E Sick and R Having to Basically Drag Him to the Hospital While Not Knowing How Afraid of Hospitals E Is

“Enj, please,” Grantaire pleaded desperately. “You’ve been running a nasty fever for three days now, and you sound like you are going to cough up a lung. We have to go to the hospital.”

Enjolras shook his head while coughing harshly into the crook of his elbow. “No,” he rasped out in between coughs. “I’m fine.”

Grantaire breathed out a deep sigh while mentally repeating ‘control your temper.’ He moved until he was crouched in front of Enjorlas and placed a hand atop Enjolras’s knee. “It will just be Combeferre,” he pressed softly, but Enjolras narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t care who it is, R. I’m not going.” Enjolras said firmly despite his chattering teeth.

Grantaire got his feet with a huff. “I will literally carry your ass there,” he spit out, all thoughts of controlling his temper gone.

“You wouldn’t,” Enjolras fired back, voice sharp and fierce.

Grantaire tilted his head, and his lips curled up into a dangerous smile.

*****

When Grantaire pulled into a parking spot, Enjolras threw his door open and started toward the direction of the woods that framed the hospital despite the pouring rain.

He crossed his shaking arms and ducked his head while shifting into a swift pace, but it didn’t take long for Grantaire to catch up to him.

“Enjolras, where the hell are you going!?” Grantaire shouted in order to be heard over the rain. He stumbled to a halt in front of Enjolras and placed both hands atop Enjolras’s shoulders.

“Home!” Enjolras fired back loudly, only to double over into a harsh coughing fit that left his vision swimming.

Grantaire placed a hand to Enjolras’s back and rubbed up and down soothingly despite his blood all but boiling out of anger.

When Enjolras finally finished and looked up, Grantaire sucked in a sharp gasp. Even through the pouring rain, Grantaire could see the tears streaming down Enjolras’s flushed cheeks, and before he knew it, he was pulling Enjolras into a tight hug.

“E, what’s going on?”

Grantaire’s voice was so soft and so gentle, and Enjolras only pressed his face into the brunet’s neck. “I really hate hospitals,” he muttered out, but the strong arms tightening around him told him Grantaire heard. “They scare me,” he admitted, shaking voice barely above a whisper by this point.

Grantaire breathed out a deep sigh and pulled away from Enjolras, just enough to press his forehead to Enjolras’s burning one. “I’m right here,” he said softly. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

Enjolras’s voice was trembling just as hard as his body, and Grantaire frowned. He had to get Enjolras out of the rain, but rushing didn’t seem like the best of options.

“I told you when we first started dating that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said finally, lips curling up into a light smile. “And I’m a man of my word.”

Enjolras seemed to consider this for a moment, but finally, he nodded weakly.

Relief washed over Grantaire’s face, and he wrapped a strong arm around Enjolras’s shoulders and led him to the building.

*****

“What the hell?”

“I’ll go grab some towels!”

“I’m going to try and find some dry clothes for them!”

Nurses ran around to gather supplies, but Combeferre remained still with his eyes trained on his two dripping friends. When he opened his mouth to question the two, Grantaire shot him a curt shake of the head, and he caught on quickly and closed his mouth.

“Right this way,” he said instead and motioned toward the double doors behind him. He turned on his heel and started toward the double doors, and the loud squeaking sounds echoing behind him told him that Grantaire and Enjolras were following.

*****

“Deep breath.”

Even from where Grantaire was sitting, he could hear the loud crackle sounding from Enjolras’s lungs, and he frowned and tightened his grip around Enjolras’s hand.

Combeferre frowned as well and pulled the stethoscope away with a low sigh just as Enjolras turned away to cough a wet, harsh cough into the crook of his elbow.

“Pneumonia,” Combeferre supplied while scribbling away on the clipboard he brought in with him, and Grantaire cursed lowly under his breath.

Enjolras tensed in his seat, and Grantaire was on his feet and at Enjolras’s side in seconds.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Grantaire reassured softly as he brushed wet strands of hair away from Enjolras’s burning face. “Now that we know what’s wrong, we can get medicine to make you feel better.”

“He will have to be admitted for a few hours so we can get that fever under control.”

“No. That’s not-” Enjolras stopped once a coughing fit took hold.

Grantaire shot questioning eyes toward Combeferre while rubbing a steady hand against Enjolras’s back. “Is it really necessary?”

Combeferre reluctantly nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you are capable of caring for him at home, but his fever is far too high right now.”

Grantaire nodded just as Enjolras caught his breath.

“I’ll get a room ready,” Combeferre said before leaving the room.

“R,” Enjolras started, voice trembling. “I can’t. I don’t need-”

Grantaire cut Enjolras off with a firm kiss. When he pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed to Enjolras’s.

“I know you don’t want to, but you need to in order to get better.”

“No, I-”

Grantaire pressed another, lighter kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “Listen,” he whispered once he pulled away. “I’m going to be right here the entire time, okay? I’m not going to leave, even for a second.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and breathed out a shaking breath. He nodded and all but melted into Grantaire’s arms when the latter pulled him into a hug.

It was only a few hours, right? He could make it as long as Grantaire was by his side.


	28. Ficlet: Injured E and Babysitter R

It happened in the blink of an eye. One second Enjolras was standing on the stage, shouting into a microphone, and the next, he was curled up on the ground below the stage while clutching at his swelling ankle.

The following five minutes were chaotic to say the least. The crowd quickly grew restless as the rest of the Les Amis fought toward the front to get to their fallen leader.

When the idea of getting Enjolras home was brought up, Grantaire was quick to offer, much to everyone’s surprise, and the shock of the group only heightened when Enjolras didn’t argue for a different person.

“Don’t kill each other,” Combeferre said as Grantaire started toward his car with one arm wrapped tightly around Enjolras’s waist. The latter could barely put pressure on his injured foot, and Grantaire took on most of Enjolras’s weight.

“Never,” Grantaire called over his shoulder, lips curled up into a teasing smile despite the low huff Enjolras breathed out in response.

*****

When Enjolras winced at the ice being placed atop his swollen foot, Grantaire spit out a hushed apology.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras pressed through clenched teeth. “It’s just cold.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Grantaire fired back through a laugh, and Enjolras replied with a loud sigh.

“I know that,” he muttered out. “Don’t be mean; my foot hurts,” he added, voice tired. His brows were furrowed deeply at his throbbing foot, and the mere thought of how far behind he could get because of this injury left his stomach twisting nervously.

Grantaire carefully claimed the spot on the couch beside Enjolras. “What can I do?” He asked, and the sincerity dripping from his tone had Enjolras’s lips pulling up into a soft smile.

“Kiss it and make it better,” Enjolras replied, but when Grantaire started to move toward the injured foot, Enjolras stopped the brunet with a firm hand to his chest.

At Grantaire’s questioning gaze, Enjolras tapped lightly at his lips.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, drawing out the word. “That kind of kiss,” he muttered before leaning forward to press his lips firmly against Enjolras’s.

Enjolras replied with a deep groan, and he tangled his fingers into Grantaire’s unruly curls; however, the sound of a throat clearing had the two quickly pulling apart.

Combeferre stood a few feet away with his arms crossed while Courfeyrac bounced on his feet beside him.

“When did this happen?”

“You’re dating?!”

Grantaire sighed just as Enjolras carefully curled up against his chest, and he was quick to wrap a steady arm around Enjolras’s shoulders.

“It will be four months on Tuesday,” Grantaire answered, and Enjolras sucked in a sharp gasp.

“You remember the exact date?”

“Of course,” Grantaire breathed out through a laugh. “I’m going to get it tattooed when we get married.”

Enjolras shook his head, but his lips were curled up into a fond smile. “You are ridiculous.”

Courfeyrac frantically reached for his phone just as Combeferre breathed out a low “what the fuck?”


	29. Enjoltaire with Sick, Downplaying R Cancelling a Date with E

When Grantaire sat down in the booth seat across from Enjolras with a frown, Enjolras abandoned his notes in favor of watching his boyfriend with narrow eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked, voice low yet firm.

Grantaire kept his eyes locked to the scratched tabletop beneath him. He cleared his throat and let out a shaky breath. “I have to cancel our date tonight.” 

With furrowed brows, Enjolras reached one hand over and placed it atop of Grantaire’s, prompting the brunet to look up. “Why?” He asked, voice soft yet curious. 

“I’m not feeling very well,” Grantaire admitted, voice cracking ever-so slightly.

Enjolras pulled his hand away with a raised brow. He studied the brunet but couldn’t find any indication of illness. To him, Grantaire looked as he always looked, albeit slightly more tired than usual. But with finals week coming up, everyone was sporting the tell-tale signs of exhaustion. 

“Can you elaborate?” Enjolras asked, unconvinced. 

Grantaire raked slender fingers through his unruly curls. “Just really tired and achy,” he answered with a low sigh. He lied, of course. He didn’t want to tell Enjolras that he had woken up to a fever that left him passed out on his dorm room floor for twenty minutes that morning. It was taking every ounce of willpower to not shiver or cough while sitting across from his boyfriend because he didn’t want to worry Enjolras. The latter was stressed enough as it was with finals coming up, and he didn’t want to add to that with his own ailments. 

Enjolras contemplated pressing further, but Grantaire appeared to be having enough trouble as it was just saying this, so he offered one, curt nod before he turned back to his notes. “You should go home and rest if you are unwell,” he added, voice clipped, without looking up. 

Grantaire’s eyes remained locked on Enjolras’s bowed head for a few moments before he quietly slid out of the booth. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, voice soft. He hesitated, but when Enjolras gave no indication that he was going to reply, Grantaire turned toward the exit with a deep frown. 

*****

“I don’t know, Ferre. He seemed fine. I think he was faking it because he didn’t want to go on the date,” Enjolras said as he sipped lightly at his coffee. 

“When has Grantaire ever passed up the opportunity to go out with you?” 

It was a good question, great even. Since the two had started dating, Grantaire was always there. Never once had the brunet cancelled on anything. He was always more than eager to go wherever Enjolras went, which is why Enjolras was so skeptical about the whole ‘sick’ thing. 

“I’m suspicious,” Enjolras finally answered. He set his coffee cup down and breathed out a low sigh.”I think I’m going to go to his dorm and catch him in his lie.” 

“What good would that do?” Combeferre fired back. “It’s like you are trying to ruin this relationship.” 

“I’m not,” Enjolras snapped. His fingers curled tightly around the coffee cup. “I just don’t understand why he’s lying.” 

“Then talk to him,” Combeferre pressed tightly. 

“I will,” Enjolras said as he got to his feet. “Right now.” He shouldered his bag and started toward the door. 

“You’re going to his dorm.” 

It wasn’t a question but rather a statement, but Enjolras still replied. “Of course” over his shoulder before he tossed his coffee cup into the trash and shoved the door open. 

*****

After the sixth knock on the door, Enjorlas was growing angry. He was becoming convinced that Grantaire wasn’t even in the dorm, but when he went to rap his knuckles hard against the door for a seventh time, the door flew open. 

All anger washed away from Enjolras’s face at the sight of Grantaire. The brunet was gripping the door frame to keep himself upright with one hand while the other hand was clasped around the ends of a blanket that was draped across his shoulders. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, yet his face was ghostly pale. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead and left stray pieces of his bangs stuck to his forehead, and Enjolras could hear the crackle of Grantaire’s lungs from where he was standing. 

“Fuck,” Enjolras hissed out, but when Grantaire went to reply, he ended up doubled over in a coughing fit that left him seeing black. 

Enjolras ushered Grantaire back into the room and closed the door with his foot. He kept both hands on Grantaire as he coughed and coughed. Each one sounded deeper then the last, and this went on for a solid thirty seconds before Grantaire finally caught his breath. 

“Fuck,” Enjolras repeated, voice shaking slightly. He helped Grantaire back to the bed before he started back and forth across the room, nervously pacing as his mind worked a mile a minute. 

Grantaire watched with tired eyes, but after a minute, Enjolras’s movement made him too dizzy, and he called out weakly for his boyfriend to stop. 

Enjolras was at his side in seconds, and he brushed the backs of his fingers against Grantaire’s cheeks. The heat was enough to leave him gasping lightly, and he drew his hand away with a deep frown. “You’re very sick,” he said, voice dripping with concern. 

“Why are you here?” Grantaire asked before he was forced to turn away and cough into the crook of his elbow. 

“I-” Enjolras started, but the words trailed off his tongue. Shaking his head, he glanced around the room, and his eyes caught sight of the half-full bottle water and opened bottle of pills on Grantaire’s bedside table. 

“When is the last time you’ve had medicine?” Enjolras asked as he busied himself by examining the pills. His eyes scanned the precautions on the back of the label while his mind wandered elsewhere.

“You thought I was lying,” Grantaire pressed, voice tired. 

Enjolras’s grip tightened around the pill bottle, and he spun around. “Well yes, but you said you were just a little tired!” He snapped. “That was an incredibly big understatement!” 

Grantaire flopped back against his pillow and draped on arm across his eyes. “I downplayed it. I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“It’s a little too late for that!” Enjolras fired back, but when Grantaire visibly winced at the sound of his voice, he took a mental step back and breathed out a deep sigh. “Sorry,” he added, voice softer. “You could have told me you were feeling much worse then what you said.” 

“You could trust me,” Grantaire shot back weakly. He moved his arm away from his eyes. “I would never lie to you.” He rolled his head to the other side to cough harshly into his fist. 

Enjolras dropped to his knees beside the bed and took one of Grantaire’s hands in his. Grantaire’s hand was burning, but Enjolras kept his fingers locked tightly around it. 

“I’m an asshole,” he said quietly, and despite feeling like hell, Grantaire breathed out a low, raspy laugh. 

“You aren’t,” Grantaire replied. “But we should still talk about this when I’m well.” 

“Of course,” Enjolras breathed out as Grantaire’s eyes drifted closed. The mere thought of having a confrontation with Grantaire made his stomach churn, but he knew talking about trust was something that would come up eventually.

For now, he would stay by Grantaire’s side and help the latter get well. It was the least he could do. 


	30. Ficlet: E Misses a Rally Because He's Sick and Caretaker R

Enjolras is pulled from sleep by his stomach cramping violently. He blinks at his nightstand clock reading 5:02 a.m. with furrowed brows. When he moves to sit up, his stomach lurches, and he staggers out of bed with one hand clamped loosely over his mouth.

He makes a beeline for the bathroom and drops hard to his knees in front of the toilet. He fumbles around in the dark with his free hand to lift the toilet lid, and mere seconds later, he’s bracing up on his knees and heaving.

His muscles convulse with each wave of nausea, and his throat burns as hot bile grates against it. He spends minutes hunched over the toilet until there is literally nothing left in his stomach. He just manages to reach a shaking hand up to flush the toilet before he crumples to the floor.

Strong tremors wrack his frame, and he curls onto his side and draws his knees to his chest. The tiled floor is icy cold against his bare legs and bare chest, but moving is all but out of the question.

Sleep pulls at him, and seconds later, he’s nodding off.

*****

“He’s not answering his phone.” Grantaire announces, voice thick with worry, as he pulls his phone away from his ear when he’s met with Enjolras’s voicemail.

“This is very unlike him,” Combeferre admits with his arms crossed.

“I’m worried,” Courfeyrac says, and Jehan and Feuilly nod in agreement.

“I’ll go-” Joly begins, only to be cut off by Grantaire holding up a hand.

“No. I’m going.” Grantaire spits out before turning sharply on his heel and breaking out into a sprint toward his car.

*****

“-jolras!?”

Enjolras frowns, but keeps his eyes closed tight.

“Enjolras!”

Grantaire? Enjolras snaps his eyes open and shoots up into a sitting position, but this proves to be a horrible idea because he’s left scrambling on his hands and knees over to the toilet as his stomach lurches.

He pushes up on his knees and dry heaves over the toilet. Nausea wreaks havoc in his stomach, but nothing comes up. His muscles tense with each dry heave, and he spends a solid two minutes gagging with nothing coming up before his stomach settles.

All energy flees from his body, and next thing he knows, he’s falling to the ground, but instead of hitting cold, hard tile, he collapses against something strong and warm.

“Fuck,” Grantaire hisses out. Enjolras’s skin is hot to the touch, and the latter appears to be half out of it. “Are you with me?” He questions, voice trembling almost as hard as Enjolras’s burning frame.

“Mmm,” Enjolras nuzzles his nose against Grantaire’s neck and leans closer to the warmth. “Why’re you here?” He asks, words slurring together.

“I came when you didn’t show up to the rally,” Grantaire answers, and Enjolras tenses against him.

“Rally?” He asks slowly as the cogs turn slowly in his mind. “That’s today?”

Worry spikes in Grantaire’s stomach, and he presses a palm to Enjolras’s forehead, frowning deeply at the alarming heat. “You don’t remember?”

Enjolras shakes his head. To be honest, he doesn’t even know what day it is or what time it is. All he knows is that is muscles ache fiercely, he’s freezing, his head is pounding, and he just wants to sleep.

“Okay,” Grantaire breathes out lowly. “We should get you to bed.” He moves to stand, but when Enjolras tries to stand with him, he stumbles and drops to a knee.

“I can’t,” he rasps out, panting just from the small movement. His vision is swimming, but when he feels himself pitching forward, Grantaire is there to steady him.

“I could carry you,” Grantaire tries, voice laced with worry, but Enjolras quickly shakes his head.

“No. No, I want to stay in here.”

Grantaire gets to his feet and nods. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Enjolras sags back against the bathtub and wraps his arms around his shivering frame. He’s just falling asleep when Grantaire reenters the room with his hands full.

The brunet is carrying three blankets, and he’s got a bag looped through his arm that has water bottles and medicine in it.

Enjolras watches with tired eyes as Grantaire wraps two of the blankets around his shoulders before taking a spot beside him and draping the third over the two.

Grantaire then uncaps a bottle and brings it to Enjolras’s lips. “Just a few, small sips for now, okay?”

Enjolras nods and takes a couple of tiny sips before Grantaire pulls the bottle away.

The water helps greatly with his raw throat, and now all he wants to do is sleep. He curls up closer to Grantaire and drops his head against the brunet’s chest. “Thank you,” he whispers as his eyes flutter closed.

Grantaire cards his fingers slowly through Enjolras’s hair. “Thank me when you are better.”


	31. Ficlet: Enjoltaire ft. E at the Hospital Refusing to Talk Until R Gets There

Enjolras’s ribs hurt. Bad. Actually, his entire body ached fiercely. Each ragged inhale pulled tightly at his muscles until he was sucking in a sharp hiss with his face screwed up in pain, and the IV sticking out of his arm accompanied with a hard hospital bed leaving his back in knots was doing nothing to help.

He had fought tooth and nail to not go to the hospital. With Grantaire gone on a travelling art tour, Enjolras was left in the apartment alone, and of course he got sick. He always got sick when Grantaire was gone, but he couldn’t tell Grantaire. The latter had specified to only call for emergencies until he got back in a couple of weeks because he really had to focus on the creations of new art pieces.

So, Enjolras suffered to himself; however, he kept getting worse, much to his dismay. He shot a brief text to Combeferre asking if it was normal for his ribs to hurt when he coughed, and his friend’s response was to show up at his apartment only minutes later to drag his ass to the hospital.

There was a lot of coughing and arguing on Enjolras’s end during the twenty minute drive to the hospital, but once they arrived, he fell silent save the harsh, wet coughs that often tore up his throat. He refused to utter a single word, leaving Combeferre aggravated beyond belief.

That had been six hours ago. It didn’t take long for him to he diagnosed with pneumonia, and he was told he was going to have to be admitted for at least three days. He had nothing to entertain himself except the crap cable TV, so he silently distracted himself with a 24-hour soap opera while Combeferre continued desperately trying and failing to get him to speak.

It wasn’t that he refused to talk out of spite. He hated hospitals: the blinding white walls, flickering fluorescent lights, constant beeping. It was too much. He felt trapped in a closed box despite the brightness of each room. Words failed on his lips, but the only solution was miles and miles away living out his dream.

He had spent the better half of his time at the hospital dozing, so logically he shouldn’t be tired. But, the voices on the TV became muffled as his eyes slipped closed one more.

However, what felt like only seconds later, he was being pulled from sleep by voices seeping in from the hallway.

_“You technically can’t go in.”_

_“Are you really going to stop me?”_

Enjolras tensed up at the voice.

_“I highly doubt I could even if I tried.”_

Seconds later, the door opened, revealing a panting, disheveled Grantaire gripping either side of the door frame with wide eyes.

“R,” Enjolras breathed out, speaking for the first time since he’d been admitted. He wasn’t aware of the tears slipping from his eyes until Grantaire was at his side and brushing stray tears away with his thumbs.

“Hi,” Grantaire whispered, voice shaking slightly. “How are you feeling?”

The concern bleeding out from Grantaire’s tone left Enjolras shaking his head right before he dropped his forehead to the brunet’s chest.

Grantaire responded by wrapping strong arms around Enjolras’s trembling frame.

The pair sat like that for minutes and minutes. Enjolras melted into Grantaire’s steady warmth. His body framed perfectly against the brunet’s sculpted one, and he never wanted to leave.

But, a sudden clear of a throat had the two pulling away and looking to Combeferre.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Enjolras should really go back to sleep.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest but instead of words, a harsh coughing fit clawed up his throat instead. He turned and coughed and coughed into the crook of his elbow, and when he finally finished, he slumped back against his pillow, exhausted.

“R?” Combeferre asked, nodding toward the door, but Grantaire ignored the silent notion in favor of curling around Enjolras on the small bed.

“I’m staying,” Grantaire said, leaving no room for argument in his sharp tone.

Enjolras curled his fingers tightly into Grantaire’s jacket as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Fine,” Combeferre said while mentally plotting reasons as to why someone was allowed to stay after visiting hours, but when Grantaire smiled, angry facing washing away to relief, Combeferre couldn’t help but smile back.

Those two were meant for each other, and her certainly wasn’t going to be the one to pull them apart. He stepped out of the room quietly but stopped to watch the two from the window for just a moment.

With some slight shifting around, Grantaire was propped up with some pillows with Enjolras using his chest as a pillow. The brunet was carding slender fingers through Enjolras’s golden locks with a soft smile, and for the first time, Enjolras looked completely and utterly relaxed.


	32. Ficlet: Enjoltaire ft. E Cutting His Finger While Cooking and Worried R

The rhythmic chopping and soft guitar strumming echoed throughout the kitchen. It was a typical Tuesday night for Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras would prepare dinner while Grantaire fiddled with different chords until a basic melody manifested, and from that, the brunet would improvise lyrics in a way that always left Enjolras breathless.

It was simple, relaxing, and-

All thoughts came to a halt when Enjolras’s knife missed the cucumber he was slicing. He sucked in a sharp hiss as blood flowed from a deep slit on his finger.

His sound of discomfort was enough because seconds later, Grantaire sat his guitar across the table and was on his feet and at Enjolras’s side.

“What…” Grantaire’s words trailed off when he caught sight of the bleeding gash. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras muttered as he shifted over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and waited for the water to turn warm. Once the temperature felt okay, he cautiously moved his bleeding finger under the stream, wincing at the sharp sting. Red tinted water washed down the drain, but after two minutes, Enjolras noted with a frown that the bleeding wasn’t stopping.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire pressed, voice firm but afraid.

“It’s fi-” The words fell from Enjolras’s lips when Grantaire wrapped strong, slender fingers around his wrist. He snapped his gaze to see the brunet slowly pulling his wrist up to his narrow eyes.

Grantaire only lightly loosened his grip around Enjolras’s wrist as he studied the cut. Blood fell in large drops, some staining Grantaire’s shirt, but he could care less. The wound was worryingly deep, and without taking his eyes from the cut, he reached over and grabbed a hand towel from the counter and carefully wrapped it around the cut.

“R-”

“We’re going to the hospital.” Grantaire’s tone was unyielding, but that had never stopped Enjolras before.

“R, seriously. A hospital isn’t necessary.” Enjolras sighed, glancing from his wrapped finger then back to the brunet.

Grantaire leveled his gaze, and the two stared at each other for moments and moments. Neither talked, but their eyes spoke intensely.

“Fine,” Enjolras broke the silence with a huff. “Have it your way.”

Grantaire moved away to grab his shoes and coat, and after a few seconds, Enjolras followed suit.

*****

“Couch,” Grantaire commanded as the two walked back into the apartment an hour later.

“Grantaire, I have stitches on one finger on one hand. You don’t have to act as if I’m going to break,” Enjolras breathed out through a sigh.

Combeferre was on shift when the had two arrived, and he took one look at Enjolras’s finger then all but pulled him by the shirt collar to a back room with Grantaire hot on their heels.

Combeferre had scolded Enjolras for assuming that the cut was fine and praised Grantaire for bringing him in. Enjolras spent twenty minutes pouting as Combeferre worked through stitches while grumbling about how incompetent Enjolras was.

“I don’t care,” Grantaire snapped, and Enjolras, surprised by the sudden tone, wordlessly obeyed.

He sat on the couch then drew his knees to his chest with a frown as Grantaire walked out of the room, returning moments later with an oven mitt in hand.

“I’m just going to toss a frozen pizza in the oven,” Grantaire started, but before he could turn back into the kitchen, Enjolras called out to him.

“R. Come here.”

Grantaire briefly glanced back to the kitchen before moving until he was seated on the coffee table across from Enjolras.

With furrowed brows, Enjolras studied the brunet. He took in the pale, drawn face accompanied with tired eyes. “What’s wrong?” He finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“R.”

Grantaire sighed. “I said nothing.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras pressed, and the brunet shook his head.

“I was worried, okay?”

Enjolras tilted his head slightly. “Why? It’s just a small cut.”

Grantaire rose to his feet with a huff. “I don’t care how small or insignificant it is. I don’t like seeing you hurt, okay?” He tossed the oven mitt onto the table then rubbed shaking hands up and down his face.

Enjolras got to his feet and gently pried Grantaire’s hands from his face while being cautious of his injured finger. “Hey, hey,” he said gently. “I’m fine.”

Grantaire only shook his head in response. He was tired, exhausted even, and he always got emotional when tired. Hell, he always got emotional when Enjolras was involved in anything really.

Unsure of what else to do, Enjolras leaned forward and pressed his lips to Grantaire’s, and the brunet melted into the kiss.

When Enjolras pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed against Grantaire’s. “I’m fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered, relief evident in his tone.


	33. R Overworking Himself ft. Caretaker E

Enjolras tries to ignore the chatters of his friends while reviewing meeting notes, but they are too loud, too persistent, too worried.

Grantaire has been the topic of conversation for the last three days. The latter has been fussed over by the rest of the Les Amis on multiple occasions for being “sick”. His excuse is always the same: I’m fine, just stressed with loads to do.

The rest of the group don’t push the brunet; though, Enjolras can tell how much it’s killing Combeferre to not perform a full examination.

But, while the others worry for Grantaire in secret, Enjolras isn’t quite convinced, so when Grantaire stumbles into tonight’s meeting mumbling his typical excuse, Enjolras replies with a scoff.

“As if you ever work hard at anything,” he spits out, ignoring the sharp stare from Combeferre.

To his surprise, Grantaire doesn’t react in the slightest. The brunet simply staggers over to his back table and flips his sketch book open to work on his drawings for class.

“Could you not be an asshole for two seconds?” Combeferre hisses into his ear seconds later. “He’s sick, yet he’s still coming to every meeting for you.”

Enjolras ignores his friend in favor of starting the meeting, and minutes later, he’s forgotten everything as he dives into another night of social justice.

*****

If anyone asks, Enjolras could confidently answer that he wasn’t expecting to spend the remainder of his night shifting from foot to foot outside of Grantaire’s apartment at eleven p.m., yet, here he is, waiting in the icy wind for the brunet to open the door.

He could have ignored it, but when he realized that Grantaire still had one his law books that he needs for a test this week, he shot a quick text to the brunet then drove over without waiting for a reply.

He raps his knuckles against the door for the fifth time, but still, he gets no reply. He huffs out a breath of annoyance and tries the doorknob, and he’s surprised to feel it twist with his wrist.

“Careless,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes the door open. The apartment is dark, but there’s a soft light filtering out from a crack behind one door: Grantaire’s bedroom.

Enjolras walks over to the door and knocks, but he’s met with silence. “Grantaire?” He tries, voice loud and firm, but still nothing.

He wraps his hand around the doorknob and twists, pushing the door open enough to slide in.

Grantaire is furiously drawing on a canvas propped up with an easel with his back to the door. There are headphones covering his ears, and multiple empty coffee mugs are littering his desk beside him.

His floor is scattered with sketchbook pages that have giant pencil marks slashed through them, and Enjolras studies a few as he makes his way toward the brunet.

When he gets closer, he freezes with furrowed brows. Grantaire is shaking hard. For a brief moment, Enjolras glances back to the empty coffee cups, but something tells him this may be more than a caffeine rush.

He closes the distance until he’s stopped right beside the brunet and taps gently on his shoulder.

Grantaire jumps under his touch and is quick to knock his headphones down and away from his ears while turning sharply toward Enjolras.

Enjolras sucks in a sharp gasp at the sight. Aside from the shivering, Grantaire is incredibly pale, but the brunet’s cheeks are a deep red that has Enjolras frowning.

Enjolras takes a quick glance around the room once more, zeroing in on the many failed pictures littering the floor, before snapping his attention back to Grantiare when the brunet clears his throat.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re sick,” Enjolras mutters as realization washes over him. Regret swells within his chest as he recalls his harsh words from earlier. It’s apparent, now, that his friends were right. Grantaire is sick, and he’s clearly overworking himself.

Grantaire sighs and turns back to his easel. “Did you need something? Because I have deadlines to meet.”

“You’re sick,” Enjolras repeats more confidently then before.

In seconds, Grantaire composure crumbles into a thousand pieces. His shaking increases as tears slip rapidly down his cheeks, and Enjolras is taken aback, unsure of what to do or say as the brunet breaks down in front of him.

“I know!” Grantaire shouts. “But this HAS to get finished!” He motions wildly to the painting. “I keep trying and trying, but nothing is working! Either the colors are wrong or it looks too textbook!”

Enjolras’s eyes are wide, and for the first time in a long time, he’s rendered speechless. He’s trying to find words, but his mind is blank. But when Grantaire groans loudly then turns toward his easel to start slapping paint messily across the black and white picture, Enjolras’s muscles react while his mind takes a while to catch up.

He grabs Grantaire’s wrist before the latter can ruin the painting. “R, stop!”

Grantaire freezes in his grip, and for a few moments, both boys are silent, with the only sound coming from Grantaire’s harsh, ragged panting.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mutters after a bit, and Enjolras replies by gently pulling the brunet to his feet. He keeps a tight grip around Grantaire’s wrist as he pulls him over to the bed.

He pulls the covers back with one hand before lightly pushing Grantaire onto the bed. To his surprise, Grantaire obliges without argument, which tells Enjolras just how poorly the brunet is feeling.

With Grantaire tucked in, Enjolras takes a spot on the edge of the bed and leans over to press his palm to Grantaire’s forehead. The heat that coats his hand is overwhelming, and his faces scrunches up in worry.

“You’re boiling,” he mutters under his breath, and Grantaire hums in response.

“Just sleep for right now,” Enjolras adds, but his words fall against deaf ears for Grantaire is already asleep.

Enjolras spends a few minutes just watching the brunet before he glances back to the painting with determined eyes.

*****

When Grantaire wakes up, he feels as if he’s suffering through a terrible hangover. His mouth is dry, his head is throbbing mercilessly, and his body aches as if he’s aged fifty years over night.

He sits up with a yawn but freezes halfway through when he spots Enjolras slumped over asleep at his desk. What the fuck?

He stumbles out bed and staggers towards Enjolras like a newborn deer. He opens his mouth to call out to the boy, but his words catch in his throat.

Enjolras has light paint streaks across his face, and once glance to his laptop shows multiple tabs on “How to paint.”

“What the fuck?” He breathes out before turning sharply toward his easel, and his eyes go wide just as his jaw goes slack.

His painting is colored with reds and golds that contrast against a deep swirl of blacks and greens. It’s almost ugly at a first glance, but the colors tell an entire story. There are gaps between the differing pairs of colors, but there’s one, small space in the center of the piece where the red mixes lightly with the green.

Grantaire is at a loss for words as he blinks back tears. He shifts his gaze to Enjolras and breathes out a soft “thank you” before turning his attention back to what, he believes, will be his best art piece.


	34. Ferre Sick at Work and Having to Ask Someone To Pick Him Up

Combeferre’s been battling a headache since he got up for work this morning, but with flu season hitting full force, he can’t afford a day off, not with three doctors already out with the damned illness.

He’s treating the day almost as trial and error, but five hours into his shift, and he’s struggling. He’s chilled to the bone, but his face is burning. His headache has been consistent, and his limbs are heavy, making walking feel like a challenging task.

He’s still torn on whether or not he should call it a day, but when a patient expresses concern about his pale complexion right before he sags against the wall as a harsh coughing fit tears up his throat, he has his decision made for him when the patient pages for help and Joly comes in.

“Christ, you too?”

Combeferre waves a hand as he struggles against grating coughs to catch his breath. “I’m…. Okay….”

“You’ve never been a good liar,” Joly says with a tsk as he approaches Combeferre.

“Fine,” Combeferre breathes out while he straightens up to meet Joly’s eyes. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“Clearly,” Joly says flatly as he removes a glove. He slides a palm across Combeferre’s forehead, and his face instantly pinches in worry.

“Jesus, Ferre. You’re burning.” Joly’s voice is laced with concern, and he latches his hand onto Combeferre’s wrist and starts pulling him out of the hospital room.

“Wait,” Combeferre tries. “The patient-”

“It’s okay,” the woman says. “I think you need help more than I do right now.”

Combeferre glances behind him and shoots the woman a thankful smile. “We will have someone in here shortly.”

Seconds later, the door shuts behind him, and Joly drags him into an empty hospital room and orders him to sit on the bed.

Combeferre complies, but before he has a chance to say anything, Joly cuts him off by roughly jamming a thermometer into his ear.

Combeferre winces but keeps his mouth shut as the two silently wait. Thirty seconds later, the device beeps, and Joly pulls the thermometer out and frowns deeply at the reading.

“I ought to admit you,” Joly says, and Combeferre snatches the thermometer.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says with a sigh, but when his eyes take in the 104.2 reading blinking back at him, he finally understands Joly’s worry.

“What are your other symptoms?” Joly asks while pulling up a rolling chair.

“Joly,” Combeferre starts, but he’s forced to turn away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow before he can continue. “I’m a doctor, too. I don’t need an exam.”

“Fever,” Joly starts, ignoring Combeferre. “Coughing. How’s your head? You’re shaking; are you cold?”

Sighing, Combeferre complies. “My head is killing me. I’m freezing, and my entire body aches.”

“You definitely have the-”

“Flu,” Combeferre finishes. “I know. I’m a doctor.”

“Then why did you come in today?”

Combeferre leans forward and braces his elbows against his knees. “Because three other doctors are out.”

Joly leans back in the chair with a sigh. “So you thought you could ignore this and just power through?”

“No,” Combeferre breathes out. “I was going to see how long I could last, but then it got too bad too fast.” Combeferre sits up and rubs at his arms as soft shivers course through his body. “I’ll leave.”

Joly nods, face softened significantly. “You probably shouldn’t drive.”

“I’ll catch the bus.”

“You will not!” Joly suddenly shouts. “It’s cold and rainy outside! You will do no good to yourself in this weather!”

“What do you propose I do then, Joly?” Combeferre asks through a weak cough. His headache is really starting to get to him, and all he wants is to curl up underneath multiple blankets and sleep this thing off.

“Ask someone to get you,” Joly asks right before his pager goes off.

Both men look toward the beeping device, and seconds later, Combeferre’s starts chiming off.

Before Combeferre can grab it, Joly reaches over and snatches it. “No! Just ask someone to get you then rest in here. I’ll have the room closed off until then.”

“Joly-”

“Combeferre,” Joly snaps, cutting the other off. “Do not argue with me. You are entirely too sick. I can handle this.” With that, he moves to leave, but before he walks out the door, he glances over his shoulder. “If I find out that you left this room to work, I’m going to be very aggravated.”

With that, the door slams shut, and Combeferre breathes out a loud sigh, fishes his phone from his pocket, shoots a quick text, then curls up on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

*****

An ice cold hand brushing against his forehead pulls Combeferre from sleep. He blinks through the haziness until Enjolras’s worried face comes into view.

“Enj?”

“Hey,” Enjolras says softly. “How are you? You’re boiling.”

Combeferre sits up with a frown. “I texted Courf.”

Enjolras breathes out a huff. “He’s busy. He asked if I could come. You knew that I wasn’t doing anything except studying today. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“For your own good,” Combeferre manages out between coughs.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” Combeferre says as he slides off the bed. For a second, the room goes dark, and he can feel himself pitching forward, but Enjolras steadies him with a tight grip to his arm.

“Combeferre? Should you even be going home? You seem very ill; should we check you in?”

Enjolras’s voice is thick with concern, but Combeferre only shakes his head.

“No. I just really want to go home.”

Enjolras breathes out a quiet okay, and seconds later, Joly comes into the room with Combeferre’s coat and bag.

“Ah, Enjolras. Thanks for coming to get him.”

“Of course,” Enjolras responds.

Joly holds the coat out to Combeferre, and Combeferre shrugs out of his long white jacket and accepts the thick, black coat. The coat is blessedly warm, and Combeferre breathes out a sigh of relief.

When he and Enjolras start exiting the room, Joly clears his throat to get their attention.

“Don’t come back until your temperature is back to normal.”

Combeferre sighs and nods as he and Enjolras maneuver around nurses and patients to get to the exit. He’s stumbling, struggling to move his legs properly, but Enjolras keeps a steady hand on his back the whole way. 

Joly clearly wasn’t exaggerating about the weather. When the two walk outside, Combeferre hisses at the icy drops, and Enjolras pauses long enough to snap open his umbrella before sliding an arm around Combeferre’s waist and leading him to the car.

It’s a long two minutes because the hospital parking lot is massive and packed, but finally, they reach Enjolras’s car, and Combeferre slides into the passenger seat and instantly curls in on himself as strong shivers wrack his frame.

Enjolras quickly hops into the driver’s seat and starts the car, cranking the heat to full blast. “Don’t worry, Ferre. We will get you home and to bed soon.”

Combeferre breaths out a soft thank you and presses his burning forehead against the cool glass window, falling asleep almost instantly.

*****

It took five long days until Combeferre was well enough to return to work, and as he walks into the hospital on his first day back, he couldn’t be happier.

As he’s adjusting his badge on his long, white jacket, a nurse walks by to hand him a file.

“Room 207. Another flu case.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre says, and he starts down the hall toward the correct room. When he reaches the door, he gives two courtesy knocks before opening the door.

“Good morning. My name is Dr.-” His words trail off as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Enjolras is curled atop the small hospital bed, shivering and coughing, and Grantaire, who was pacing the length of the room, is frozen in his place. But, the brunet’s worried face washes away to relief at the sight of his friend.

“Combeferre! I’m so glad it’s you!” Grantaire pauses to shoot a worried glance toward Enjolras. “He woke up sick last night, and he’s just been getting worse ever since…”

“This,” Combeferre starts with a sigh, “is exactly why I texted Courf to come get me and not you.”


	35. E Sick But Having to Give a Speech at Graduation

Waking up on graduation day should be a flurry of excitement because all of your hard work is paying off in the form of a ceremony and a piece of paper that signifies your status in society, but for Enjolras, he wakes on the day of his graduation to a pounding head accompanied with chills and a sore throat.

Of course, he thinks to himself. He knows that he’s been pushing his body to the breaking point over the last few weeks, but he’s been holding onto the small hope that he would last.

He supposes this is the result of his disbelief in luck.

Getting out of bed proves to be a challenge in itself. The second he sits up, the room starts to spin, and he clutches at his head with his eyes squeezed tightly shut until his body no longer feels as if it’s rocking back and forth on a boat. 

It takes a few minutes, but finally, he’s able to slowly swing his legs over the bed and get to his feet. He’s expecting the worst when he’s standing, and he manages to reach a shaking hand to his nightstand when the room begins to sway once more.

After two minutes, everything stills, and he breathes out a low “finally” as he shuffles into the bathroom to shower and get ready.

He turns the shower tap as hot as it will go before slipping his clothes off. When he steps in, he sighs. The hot water pounding against his chilled skin feels heavenly, but not long after, be begins to feel severely light-headed, and he’s forced to cut his shower short.

He wraps a towel around his waist with shaking hands and steps out if the shower, only to fall to his knees seconds later.

The room is spinning violently, and he’s boiling. Bad idea, he mentally tells himself while he fights against nausea for minutes and minutes until the heat prickling across his skin is replaced with goosebumps as he starts to shiver.

He struggles to his feet and braces his hands against the edges of the sink as he stares at his reflection. His face is frighteningly pale, but his cheeks are bright red. He presses the back of one hand to his cheek and frowns at the heat that instantly warms his icy hand.

“Damn,” he whispers on a shaking breath. Today is definitely going to be rough.

*****

“Ferre!” Courfeyrac yells as he races toward said man, graduation gown fluttering behind him. He skids to a halt and hunches over, bracing his hands atop his knees as he gasps for breath.

“Have you,” he starts in between pants, “seen E?”

Combeferre frowns as he adjusts the honors sash draped over his shoulders. “No, why? I assume he’s busy rehearsing his speech.”

“He’s-”

“Sick,” Jehan finishes for Courfeyrac as he walks up to the two.

Combeferre’s brows furrow as he tenses slightly. “Where is he?” He questions slowly, voice low.

“By the stage,” Jehan supplies, voice sporting a hint of concern. “He really doesn’t look good.”

Combeferre starts toward the stage, maneuvering around graduates to get to his friend. He hears the loud, chesty coughs before he spots the boy, and he lightly pushes past a few stragglers until he’s got a clear sight of Enjolras, with Joly and Grantaire clearly fussing over him.

“Enjolras,” he says as he approaches the three, and when Enjolras turns to look, Combeferre can’t keep the surprise from washing over his face. It’s worse than he was expecting.

Enjolras is incredibly pale, but the flushed cheeks could be seen from a mile away. His face is slick with sweat, yet he’s trembling. And the coughs? The coughs sound painful, deep, as if they are flaring up from the lowest part of his lungs.

“Before you say anything,” Enjolras starts, voice raspy and cracking, “I have to do this, Ferre.”

“You can’t!” Joly fires back just as Combeferre presses a palm to Enjolras’s forehead. Unsurprisingly, his friend’s skin is boiling, and he pulls his hand away with a deep frown.

“Enj-”

“Ferre, please,” Enjolras interrupts before turning away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow.

“Do you think you can get up there with a fever that high and give a speech?”

Enjolras set his eyes into a determined stare. “Yes.”

Tossing his hands up with a sigh, Grantaire starts toward where the art majors are lining up. “I’m done. He’s unbelievable.”

Joly shoots Combeferre a desperate look before stalking off toward the pre-med students.

“Enjolras.”

“Combeferre,” Enjolras fires back, voice unyielding.

“I’m worried,” Combeferre admits, adopting a different tactic.

Enjolras’s face softens, and he nods knowingly. “I understand, but I worked four years for this, Ferre. I have to do this.”

Combeferre is hesitant to comply, but eventually, he breathes out a sigh. “Fine. If you feel faint, sit down immediately. The last thing I want to see is you toppling off the stage and getting a concussion.”

Enjolras nods, and Combeferre leaves to get in line, gut twisting with worry as harsh coughs pierce through the loud chatter of students.

*****

The sun is blinding. There’s not a single cloud in the sky to offer a hint of shade from the blaring sun. Enjolras squints against it as he walks up to the microphone. Beads of sweat slide down his temples, but he’s still freezing. When he steps in front of the microphone, there’s a chorus of gasps from the students and faculty.

Exaggerating, he thinks to himself as he clears his throat, but he falls into a coughing fit and is forced to turn away from the mic until he’s able to regain his breath.

President of the college Valjean is at his side and shooting him a worried glance as he catches his breath.

“Are you alright?”

Enjolras nods and breathes in a measured breath to test his lungs. So far so good, he thinks, and he waves away Valjean’s concern and turns back to the mic.

“As you can see,” he starts off, derailing from the script he had planned months in advance. “I’m quite ill, and yet, here I am. If this isn’t an accurate representation of the college experience, I don’t know what is.”

This earns a few knowing chuckles from students, and it’s enough for him to catch his rhythm. He shifts into his script in a way that doesn’t show he ever strayed from in, and he goes.

*****

As soon as the ceremony ends, Enjolras falls into a flurry of activity that goes on for hours. There are pictures to pose for; people to greet, thank, congratulate; and gifts to give and receive.

By the time he reaches Courfeyrac’s apartment in the evening for the graduation party, he’s barely standing. He opens the door and is surprised to see the living room empty. He can hear faint voices from Courfeyrac’s bedroom, and he drops his things and heads toward the activity.

He offers one knock on the bedroom door before pushing it open, and his eyes widen at the sight. His friends are packed on and around the bed while the small television plays a Disney movie. There’s one spot big enough for someone to lie down on available, and Enjolras tilts his head in silent question.

“We decided to postpone the party,” Combeferre supplies as he gets to his feet from his spot on the bed. He approaches Enjolras and brushes his hand against the latter’s forehead, frowning deeply at the heat. “And for good reason. You’re burning up.”

Enjolras shakes his head and crosses his arm. “You guys don’t have to cancel the plans because of me.”

“Tough,” Grantaire says as he pats the empty side of the bed that’s clearly designated for Enjolras. “Besides, no one is going to have fun knowing you are laid up in bed.”

Enjolras considers protesting further, but he’s exhausted and cold and his body aches fiercely. He slips out of his shoes and climbs into the bed, dropping his head into Grantaire’s lap.

Combeferre and Joly slip out of the room to discuss quietly with each other on the best course of action for Enjolras while Bousset and Feuilly shoot off movie titles for Enjolras to pick one. Courfeyrac and Marius adjust the blankets at the foot and sides of the bed while Jehan absently rubs at Enjolras’s feet.

Joly and Combeferre return moments later with medicine and a damp wash cloth, and once Enjolras is properly drugged up, he drops his head back into Grantaire’s lap just as Joly smooths the wash cloth across Enjolras’s forehead.

Normally, he would feel annoyed at all of the mothering, but right now, he’s in heaven. He’s warm, comfortable, and he has his friends all around him.

Not five minutes into the movie and he drifts off to the hushed chatter of his friends accompanied with Grantaire’s slender fingers carding through his hair.


	36. Courferre ft. Courf Hiding an Illness From Doctor Ferre

Work is tasking to say the least; or rather, that’s how Courfeyrac has been feeling since the start of the week. Despite getting a steady amount of sleep each night, he’s waking up exhausted, yawning into coffee cup after coffee cup as he trudges throughout each day barely able to keep his eyes open.

Twice Combeferre has questioned him on his heavy-lidded, red-rimmed eyes, but both times Courfeyrac successfully deflected any concern by saying that work has been kicking him in the ass.

It’s a plausible reason, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s barely done anything at work over the last few days. One would think working in a law office would be nonstop just like the TV shows, but Courfeyrac has been planted behind a desk with the small, mundane task of going through old case files while Enjolras gets to go out and shine in court.

Maybe, Courfeyrac thinks, it’s the new bed he and Combeferre got. Maybe his body has yet to find a the proper position, and so he thinks he’s getting sleep when he’s actually tossing and turning.

He decides to go with this reasoning because he can’t, for the life of him, think of any other reason, that is until he wakes up the following morning with a tickle uncomfortably coloring the back of his throat.

Fuck.

He sits up, thankful that Combeferre works the morning shift, and clears his throat, once, twice, until he’s left coughing harshly into his fist. The coughs grate against his throbbing throat, and he winces, rubbing gingerly at his neck with his free hand.

Of course, he thinks as he swings his legs over the bed. Of course he gets a cold when his fucking boyfriend is a very stressed out doctor who does not have even an inkling of time to tend to him.

When Combeferre gets home, he eats, showers, then ends up falling asleep on the couch until Courfeyrac has to usher him to bed for the night, so the last thing Courfeyrac wants to do is potentially worry Combeferre. Therefore, he sets a goal to hide his cold, because that’s all it is really- just a small cold.

He may be leaving out the small fact that he absolutely hates going to the doctor, even if his boyfriend is one. He cannot stand the blinding white walls; he sees them as the white lights that beckon when near death, motioning for you to cross over into the other side, whatever that may be.

But none of that matters because he has a small cold, and that’s it.

It’s a struggle, but he gets up and gets ready for work.

*****

When Courfeyrac gets home from work, he feels like utter hell, like some giant invisible hand grabbed him and personally dipped him into hell and left him there to drown in his own misery.

Sometime shortly after he arrived at work, he developed a headache. It began as just a small thump against his temples, but not an hour later, it spread across his entire forehead and brought a steady, persistent case of chills with it.

He spent hours sitting at his desk, shivering and sucking down water in a poor attempt to ease his raw, burning throat.

Enjolras caught sight of him once and ordered him to go home before running off to hop into a taxi that would take him to another courthouse.

Of course, Courfeyrac chose to ignore Enjolras’s request entirely and continued working up until his shift ended, which may or may not have been a mistake.

He’s got an hour until Combeferre comes home, so he struggles into the shower, hoping to ease the chills wracking his tired frame. He must lose track of time within the bliss of heated water over his chilled frame because he’s pulled back into reality by a knock on the door.

“Courf? I’m home.”

Courfeyrac is thankful the shower spray masks the coughing that sneaks up his throat.

“Courf?”

He faintly hears the door open wider and forces his lungs to take in air before popping his head out from behind the shower curtain. “Yeah, hey. How was work?”

Combeferre sighs and rubs at his neck. “Exhausting.”

Courfeyrac offers a sympathetic hum. “Why don’t you go put a movie on and relax? I’ll start dinner when I get out.”

Combeferre only nods and exits the bathroom, and Courfeyrac speeds up his washing. He finishes in record time, but when he climbs out, the room sways, and he’s forced to grab the edge of the sink to keep himself from toppling over.

He brings he free hand up to his mouth to muffle harsh coughs, over and over until his eyes are watering. His throat aches in a way that hurts to swallow, his head is pounding, his chest hurts, and he feels as if he’s on fire. But none of that matters because he’s got a very tired boyfriend outside to tend to.

*****

While Courfeyrac had been successful in hiding his illness from Combeferre for the remainder of the night, with only three mishaps where he had to assure Combferre that his skin was hot because his shower was hot, that he was coughing because he swallowed his water wrong, and that he wasn’t eating because he stopped by the hotdog food truck on the way home, he wakes the following morning admitting defeat.

He feels terrible. He hardly slept a wink because he was too busy trying not to cough and trying to suppress his constant shivering. He believes he was only successful because of how absolutely exhausted Combeferre had been, but he’s starting to regret not saying something.

He’s beginning realize how much more this illness is. He can’t eat because, for once, he has no appetite. His head is pounding hard enough to leave his vision swimming, and he’s icy cold, yet his throat feels as if it’s on fire.

He knows now what he has to do, but panic still takes hold anyway when he stumbles out of bed to get dressed for a visit to the hospital.

*****

“Does Courf have an appointment today?”

Combeferre tenses at the words. He slowly turns away from his clipboard to shoot Joly a questioning stare. “No. Why?”

“Are you sure? I swear I saw him in the waiting room.”

Panic flashes hot across Combeferre’s body as he thrusts his clipboard into Joly’s hands before booking it down the hall toward the waiting room. Surely not, he tells himself. Courfeyrac hates hospitals. He wouldn’t willingly come to the hospital would he?

Combeferre turns a corner, waving absently to the nurse behind the welcome desk before stepping into the waiting room. He does a quick scan, and sucks in a sharp breath when he spots Courfeyrac curled up in a corner chair, shivering hard.

He closes the distance between the two, crouching in front of the chair with furrowed brows. “Courf? Can you look at me?”

Courfeyrac lifts his head from where it’s resting on his bent knees, and Combeferre let’s out a very quiet, very measured “fuck.”

He places a palm to Courfeyrac’s forehead, frowning deeply at the alarming heat that contradicts the brunet’s persistent shivering. “Tell me your symptoms.”

Courfeyrac opens his mouth but is forced to turn away to cough harshly into the crook of his elbow before he can get a word out, and Combeferre winces at the grating sound.

As soon as Courfeyrac finishes and looks back to Combeferre, Combeferre cups his cheek. “Okay, don’t talk. Just open your mouth for me.”

Courfeyrac obliges, and Combeferre takes one look before he hauls Courfeyrac up and out of the chair and begins pulling the brunet toward a waiting room while calling for a nurse to prepare strep throat antibiotics.

*****

When Courfeyrac wakes, he’s surprised to find himself in bed in his and Combeferre’s shared apartment. He blinks his groggy eyes open and shifts his gaze to find Combeferre reading a book in a chair at his bedside.

“Ferre,” he rasps out, and Combeferre instantly drops the book and leans forward.

“I’m right here. How are you?” Combeferre asks, smoothing his hand against Courfeyrac’s too-warm cheek.

Courfeyrac takes a moment to consider the question. While he still feels like hell, he at least feels slightly more human, so that’s promising. He’s so confused though. “I’m okay, but how did I get here?”

Combeferre frowns at the question, and he takes a moment to refresh the cloth draped across Courfeyrac’s forehead by dipping it in the ice water he has in a bowl on the night stand. After smoothing it back across the brunet’s forehead, he leans back in his chair.

“I brought you into a hospital room just long enough to get that fever of yours down before I brought you home. I’m not surprised you don’t remember much. You were very delirious.”

Courfeyrac thinks he really must have been because the last thing he remembers is curling up on a hard hospital chair. A weak cough slips past his lips. “Why didn’t you just keep me there?”

“Because you hate hospitals.”

Combeferre’s tone is so matter-of-fact that it leaves Courfeyrac’s eyes welling with tears of affection for the brilliant man sitting before him.

“Courf? What’s the matter? What hurts?” Combeferre leans forward and grabs one of Courfeyrac’s hands.

Courfeyrac breathes out a low laugh and shakes his head. “Nothing. I just really love you.”


	37. Dehydrated E at a Rally

The sun is brutal, unrelenting; there’s not a single cloud in the sky to offer even the smallest amount of relief from the bright rays heating everything in sight. It can easily be argued to be one of the hottest days of the year, but Enjolras couldn’t care less.

His summer rallies are always bigger, better. With everyone out of school on break, the attendance numbers sky rocket. Voices are louder, more passionate, and the press are quick to get word.

Media attention is what they need, so Enjolras spent the last two weeks planning his biggest rally yet, and the end result is astonishing.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people flood the field and crowd around the stage while Enjolras paces behind it, murmuring his pre-written speech under his breath. The rally topic: LGBTQ+ rights in honor of LGBTQ+ Month. This particular topic hits close to home with many members of the Les Amis, Enjolras included.

Progressive ways are constantly at risk of being rejected, and Enjolras wants to fire back. He truly feels heated to the core with the piercing sun warming his back as he breathes out a deep breath before taking center stage.

The shouts of the crowd are so loud that Enjolras can feel every bone vibrating against the sound. It gives him the boost he needs as he walks toward the microphone set up for him. He spots the Les Amis front and center, whooping and hollering, and he offers them a determined nod before clearing his throat into the mic.

The cheering tampers off, and Enjolras begins his speech, words flowing passionately off his tongue. He covers the main topics while simultaneously promoting his underlining theme of “we will not be silenced.” He’s pleased to find the audience reacting vigorously to every word, and he uses their enthusiasm as his drive.

For minutes on end, he talks and talks and talks, voice rising and dropping like a roller coaster. He’s becoming parched; his throat feels incredibly dry, and he finds himself swallowing often in the hope of bringing a small bout of relief. Of course, it doesn’t work, but he pushes onward. He’s not going to break the vibe to take a sip of water.

By the time he comes to a close with his twenty minute speech, he’s feeling quite exhausted. His shirt is plastered to his body, and he’s surprised to find that he’s having to keep a constant effort in holding his heavy-lidded eyes open.

But, the chorus of “we will not be silenced!” that rings out from the crowd leaves him smiling wide as he exits the stage, loud music following his footsteps. He sways against the beat of the music as he slowly takes each step down the stairs until his feet are planted against soft, cut grass.

Seconds later, a few members of the Les Amis are running toward him. He blinks against his swimming vision to make out Grantaire, Marius, and Combeferre stopping before him.

“Three fucking news stations, Enj!” Grantaire shouts, clapping a hand down onto Enjolras’s shoulders.

Enjolras winces slightly; his muscles are aching, but his discomfort goes unnoticed. “Really?” He questions, voice wavering slightly. He’s really very hot, and a dull throb is beginning to pulse behind his eyes.

Marius steps forward with a wide smile! “Yep! They snagged Jehan for an interview, and it was absolutely beautiful! Jehan was about as passive aggressive as one can get!”

“Ah,” Enjolras says with a smile that can’t quite seem to reach his eyes. He’s having trouble wrapping his mind around coherent thoughts, and words from others are entering through one ear and exiting through the other without stopping by his brain for processing.

A cool hand cupping the side of his neck pulls him back into reality, and he blinks slowly at Combeferre’s narrowed eyes.

“Have you had anything to drink today?”

Marius and Grantaire grow quiet, and the two turn their attention toward Enjolras, sporting slightly worried expressions.

“Um,” Enjolras pauses, running a dry tongue against his cracked lips. “This morning?” He thinks. He suddenly can’t remember when was the last time he graced his throat with a liquid of any flavor.

“Get water,” Combeferre says, without his gaze straying from Enjolras. “Now.”

Grantaire nudges Marius, and the latter bolts off toward the area in the back where the coolers are set up.

Grantaire takes a step closer toward Enjolras, and he shifts his gaze from Combeferre to Enjolras. “What’s wrong?” He can detect the tension in Combeferre’s set jaw, and it leaves his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

“I think he’s dehydrated.” Combeferre replies, distracted as he examines Enjolras. 

Enjolras frowns at this, and he backs away, only to stumble as the ground beneath his feet jerks into a sudden tilt that leaves him falling backwards.

Grantaire is one step quicker, and he wraps slender fingers around Enjolras’s wrist and pulls the latter back into a standing position.

“Scratch that. I know he’s dehydrated.” Combeferre says, frowning at the way Enjolras stares at him with clouded eyes.

Seconds later, Marius comes pounding back toward the three with Joly hot on his heels.

“I’ve got the water,” Marius says, extending one hand out that’s holding an icy cold bottled water while panting.

Joly takes a split second to catch his breath before he he snaps his fingers once in front of Enjolras’s face. He frowns at Enjolras’s incredibly slow reflex to the sudden sound. “He’s dehydrated.”

Combeferre snatches the water from Marius’s hand. “I know,” he sighs, glancing around for any place that would offer shade. “Okay,” Combeferre begins, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He passes them to Marius. “I need you to go start my car and crank the AC up.”

Marius snatches the keys and runs off, but before he can get far, he’s coming to a halt and looking over his shoulder when Joly shouts his name.

“Marius! Get yourself a water on the way!”

Marius nods quickly before bolting back around the crowd.

“What’s the plan?” Joly questions.

“I’m going to take him back to my car and get him cooled down and re-hydrated.” Combeferre answers.

As if snapping awake from a trance, Enjolras abruptly shakes his head. “No. No, Ferre. You need to stay here. You all need to stay here and talk with people.” He fights against his tongue curling up to slur his words.

“Enjolras, I don’t-”

“I’m taking him,” Grantaire interrupts, voice firm. He snakes one arm around Enjolras’s waist and snatches the water with his free hand. “Trust me, yeah? I’m used to this shit by now.”

And, he is. Since he and Enjolras started dating, he’s had to tend to a sick Enjolras five different times now. He’s becoming an expert in understanding Enjolras’s many quirks.

“Go,” Combeferre says, accepting defeat for now. “One of us,” he pauses, motioning toward himself and Joly, “will go check on you two as soon as we can.”

Grantaire nods and tightens his arm around Enjolras’s waist. He begins walking slowly, and Enjolras instantly leans heavily against him as he stumbles along.

The normally five minute walk is pushing it’s seventh minute. Twice, the two are stopped by eager rally attendees expressing concern for their fallen leader, but Grantaire easily deflects the concern by stating, “He’s quite alright. Your enthusiasm simply overwhelmed him, and he needs a moment to recover.”

When the two finally reach the car Marius has cooling off, Enjolras is looking incredibly worse for wear. Grantaire is quick to slide Enjolras into the passenger seat before he closes the door and rounds the car to get to the driver’s side.

Marius hops out but lingers when Grantaire is mid-way into the car.

“Go,” Grantaire orders lightly, but Marius shakes his head.

“I’d rather stay here.”

“You know Cosette is here, right?” Grantaire questions, arching one brow.

Marius’s mouth drops into a perfect “o” before he bids the two a quick farewell and books it back to the field.

Grantaire slides all the way into the car and closes the door. The AC feels heavenly against his heated skin, but he only allows himself about a half-second to relish in the cold air before he turns to Enjolras with the water bottle.

“Can you handle drinking this yourself?”

Enjolras shifts tired, narrow eyes toward Grantaire. “Of course I can,” he mumbles, low voice still holding a sharp vibrato, a clear sign of annoyance.

Grantaire passes the water bottle toward Enjolras. “Small, slow sips for now, okay? I know you are going to want to chug it, but don’t.”

Enjolras nods and obliges. The two fall into a comfortable silence as Enjolras takes small sips of water.

The cool water against his parched throat paired with the cold air brushing against his heated skin is doing wonders for his mind and body, but he’s still so tired, and he’s finding himself feeling slightly down despite the success of the rally.

“Sorry, R,” he mutters.

Grantaire looks taken aback and he twists his body until he’s fully facing Enjolras. “Why?”

“For doing this always,” Enjolras motions weakly to their surroundings while keeping his tired eyes glued to the dashboard in front of him.

Grantaire huffs out a low laugh. “It’s fine, E. You keep me on my toes.” When Enjolras fails, still, to look at him, he presses two fingers to Enjolras’s chin and nudges the latter’s face toward his.

They lock eyes, and Grantaire leans over the center console, pressing soft lips against Enjolras’s cool ones, neither aware of a camera snapping a picture from a short distance.

*****

The following morning has all of the Les Amis gathered around the morning paper. On the front page is a picture of Grantaire and Enjolras kissing in the car with a large caption that reads “Rally for Love.”

“Of all fucking pictures,” Courfeyrac whines. “They have a great one of me and Jehan kissing, but did they use it? No,” he finishes, drawing out the word.

Enjolras ignores the persistent chatter around him as he traces his fingers lightly across the picture. A soft smile plays at the corners of his lips as he makes a mental note to buy multiple copies.


	38. R Thinking Anxiety is Asthma and Caretaker Ferre

Deadlines, Grantaire thinks as he shades a section of the lake taking up half of his sketch book page. His entire life for the last few weeks has consisted of deadlines: drawing, painting, designing, failing, starting over, failing again-

“R?”

Grantaire snaps his gaze up and locks eyes with Combeferre. “Ah, hey,” he says, abandoning his drawing as he closes his sketch book. “Is it time?”

Combeferre nods, offering Grantaire his leather jacket as the brunet slides out of the booth he’s been occupying for the last few hours.

He takes his jacket, slipping his arms through the sleeves before gathering up his sketch book and starting toward the door with Combeferre falling into step beside him.

The two walk down the low-lit sidewalk, with Grantaire silent as Combeferre chats casually about his day. They had agreed to meet at Courfeyrac’s apartment for a night of drinks and games, and Combeferre had offered to meet Grantaire at the Musain after his shift at the hospital so the two could walk over together.

Grantaire is trying to keep track of Combeferre’s words, but his focus is wrapped around the pressure in his chest that’s steadily pushing against his lungs as his heartbeat quickens, attempting to break the pressure with pure force.

He’s been here before. He assumes it’s asthma or some rib injury that never properly healed; however, he’s been finding it happening quite a bit over the last few weeks. It’s just the cold weather, he tells himself as he absently rubs at his chest with trembling hands.

He’s mid-thought about how he’ll be fine once he gets to Courfeyrac’s when he feels his throat begin to tighten and close, an all too familiar feeling. He brings a fist to his mouth and coughs a few times, hoping the force will keep his airway from snapping shut.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asks. “You aren’t getting sick are you?” He turns to glance toward the brunet, brows furrowing at the sight.

Grantaire is shaking like a leaf about to be ripped from home and blown away in a wind storm. He’s gone a ghostly pale that seems almost enforced by the thin sheen of sweat coating his temples, but most concerning is his tight grip around his throat as his chest stutters and heaves, deeper and larger as the brunet desperately tries to take in air.

Combeferre comes to a halt and wraps a hand around Grantaire’s arm. “R, look at me. What’s going on?”

Grantaire tries to laugh, to play it off, but he only ends up coughing weakly and shaking harder as his eyes brim with tears. “I just… Sometimes I get this breathless feeling,” he gasps out. “Probably like asthma or something.” He can feel burning tears slipping down his icy cheeks, and he turns away, rubbing his sleeve against his eyes.

As soon as he sees the tears, Combeferre knows this isn’t an asthma attack. “Grantaire,” he says softly, a contrast to his worried, narrowed eyes. “Look at me please.”

Grantaire slowly raises his head, blinking rapidly against his swimming surroundings as he continues his futile attempts at sucking in enough air to keep himself upright. He begins to sway, darkness teasing at the edge of his vision, and next thing he knows, he’s being pulled away from the edge of the sidewalk and propped up against the side of a building. A cool hand cups his neck, and he shivers at the touch.

“R, I need you to breathe.” Combeferre orders, fear laced within his tone.

“I’m trying,” Grantaire whispers back, voice but a low wheeze by this point. And, he is trying. He’s trying so damn hard to break through the pressure in his chest, to force air up and out of his closing throat, but he can’t win. There’s a heavy weight pushing down on his body, and he can’t escape it.

“You aren’t trying hard enough,” Combeferre presses firmly. “Match my breathing.” He sucks in deep, exaggerated breaths, over and over and over until after a few minutes, Grantaire is able to match the steady rise and fall of his chest. He watches with relieved eyes as the color begins to return to Grantaire’s once pale complexion.

Grantaire slumps against the wall, panting to make up for the lack of oxygen. He’s suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted, but when he pushes off the wall to start toward Courfeyrac’s house once more, he’s stopped by a firm hand to his chest.

“How long have you been having anxiety attacks?”

Grantaire freezes, and his eyes go wide. “I don’t-”

“That wasn’t asthma, Grantaire. That was an anxiety attack.” Combeferre has adopted his doctor tone, feeling it necessary based on the particular situation. But, he doesn’t expect Grantaire to suddenly let out a choked sob.

“That’s what this is? This constant fear of failure that makes that happen is an anxiety attack?” He can feel his limbs begin to tremble as tears slip freely down his cheeks, and he lets out a harsh laugh. “What do you know? All this time I thought it was asthma.” Another gasping sob slips past his lips, and next thing he knows, he’s being pulled against Combeferre’s chest in a borderline crushing hug.

“Have you told Enjolras about these attacks?” Combeferre asks softly, and Grantaire spits out a harsh laugh.

“He’s got enough on his plate. He doesn’t need his useless boyfriend adding to his stress.”

Combeferre’s heart wrenches at Grantaire’s words, and he pulls away from the hug but keeps his hands clasped tightly down onto the brunet’s shoulders.

“You are not useless,” he starts, voice firm yet gentle. “You mean the world to all of us.”

A strangled laugh slips past Grantaire’s lips. “I can’t even meet my own deadlines. I’m nothing but a-”

Whatever words to follow are cut off by Combeferre pulling him back into a hug that’s so tight, Grantaire is struggling to suck in a proper breath.

“Listen to me,” Combeferre says, words brushing lightly across Grantaire’s ear. “You are brilliant, talented, fantastic, and important. We all need you, and we all love you more than words can truly say.”

Grantaire relaxes slightly in Combeferre’s tight grip, and he buries his face into his friend’s neck.

“You are going to fight this, and I’m going to help, okay? We will get you through this.”

Grantaire only nods, putting every ounce of his trust into the hands of one of his very closest friends.


	39. R Passing Out During an Argument with E and E Not Realizing Until Ferre Steps In

When Combeferre pushes open the door to the Musain, he’s met with a tired look from the bartender.

“They’re arguing again. Well, they were. The drunk’s gone quiet.”

“He’s not a drunk,” Combeferre says with a sigh, ignoring the quirked-eyebrow look from the bartender as he maneuvers around tables to get to the meeting room.

All he wants is to grab his phone and leave. He doesn’t want to spend another night mediating a “creative discussion,” as Grantaire likes to call their very loud and very annoying arguments.

When he gets closer to the door, he can hear Enjolras’s piercing tone through the chipped wooden walls. A louder sigh slips past his pressed lips as he opens the door, the typical creak being masked by Enjolras’s shouting.

“You know I’m tired of this right!? The second you disagree with one thing I say, you go off and act like a child!”

Combeferre’s gaze follows Enjolras’s pacing before his eyes shift over to the back booth where Grantaire is slumped over the table with his face pressed into his folded arms atop the table.

“Is there a time where you two don’t argue?” Combeferre asks as a form of greeting as he approaches the two. “Really, what’s the point of dating?”

Enjolras huffs and motions wildly toward Grantaire, who has yet to acknowledge Combeferre’s presence.

“We weren’t arguing! We were discussing something, and he suddenly dropped his head and won’t look at me!” Enjolras pauses, taking in a measured breath as he crosses his arms and pops one hip out. “I assume he’s mad because he didn’t agree with what I said, and now he’s ignoring me.”

Frowning, Combeferre turns his focus toward Grantaire because something doesn’t feel right. He’s never seen Grantaire back out of a discussion, not once. He moves until he’s crouched beside the brunet.

“R,” he tries quietly, attempting to rouse the brunet with his voice alone.

“Really, Ferre? He’s acting like a child! Don’t go soft on him!” Enjolras tosses his hands up, disbelief and aggravation bleeding from his tone.

“Hush,” Combeferre says sharply just as a gut-wrenching pit of worry spreads across his stomach. He places one hand atop Grantaire’s back, frown deepening at the evident heat filtering through the brunet’s long sleeve shirt.

“Has he been sick?” He questions Enjolras without looking away from Grantaire.

Enjolras tilts his head slightly, confusion coloring his eyes. “No? Why?”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre tries again, shaking the brunet gently, a clear contrast to the panic laced within his tone. When this doesn’t work, he moves to pull one of Grantaire’s arms away, but when he does, he has to lean forward and quickly slide a hand across the table to keep Grantaire from bashing his head against the worn tabletop.

Grantaire’s forehead drops into Combeferre’s open palm, and instantly, Combeferre’s entire hand is burning hot. “Shit,” he curses, reaching his other hand to cup the brunet’s neck.

Enjolras tenses at the uncharacteristic curse from Combeferre. “What’s wrong?” He asks, arms tightening around his frame as he slowly walks toward the two.

“He’s burning up,” Combeferre says, attempting to gauge Grantaire’s temperature with touch alone. “He’s probably pushing a fever over 104 degrees.”

Enjolras’s arms drop to his side, and his face scrunches up in concern. “What?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. “He didn’t say he’s sick.”

“Well he is,” Combeferre says. “Come here. I need to wake him up.”

Enjolras shuffles toward the two, hovering behind Combeferre. “What do you need?” He asks, voice cracking slightly as worry laces within his tone.

“Go behind him and lift him until he’s facing me.”

Enjolras spares one, questioning glance toward the booth before he’s climbing carefully over the table and slotting himself between Grantaire and the wall. He cautiously wraps his arms around the brunet, hissing lowly at the worrying heat as he adjusts Grantaire into an upward position against his chest.

“What are you going to do?” He asks weakly. He can feel Grantaire’s labored breathing against his body, and he’s mentally cursing himself for not picking up on this sooner.

“This isn’t a recommended method, but…” Combeferre lifts a hand and quickly whips it across Grantaire’s cheek.

“Combeferre!”

“…What the fuck?” Grantaire groans out, blinking slowly as his face pulls into a wince at his stinging cheek.

“Oh my God, R,” Enjolras breathes out, burying his face into Grantaire’s hair and tightening his arms around the brunet.

“What?” Grantaire asks, voice weak and confused. He tries to look back at Enjolras, but the latter’s grip is too strong around him. He shifts hazy eyes back toward Combeferre.

“You passed out. You’ve got a dangerously high fever.”

“I… What?” Grantaire tries to wrap his mind around Combeferre’s words, but his head is pounding to hard.

“You’re really sick,” Enjolras mutters against Grantaire’s neck, causing the brunet to shiver from his warm breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Grantaire admits, voice low and wavering slightly.

Combeferre sighs just as Enjolras pulls away from the brunet with a deep frown.

“Well, it is. You should really be in a hospital right now.” Combeferre says just as Enjolras carefully slips back over the table until he’s standing beside Combeferre.

Shaking his head, Grantaire scoots back into the booth and curls in on himself. “No hospital.”

“Grantaire-”

“No hospital,” Enjorlas mutters, cutting Combeferre off. “We can bring him back to our apartment and care for him there, but no hospital. He…. He’s not a fan.”

Combeferre takes a moment to consider it, but then he breathes out a deep sigh and starts toward the door while punching in Joly’s number. “Fine. I’ll be in the car.” With a shake of the head, he exits the room to tell Joly what antibiotics he needs.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispers, feeling guilt grip at his body. He should have just said he wasn’t feeling well. He should have, so that he didn’t make Enjolras worry about him. He should have-

“Hey,” Enjolras says quickly, slipping into the booth seat until he’s perched on his knees only inches from Grantaire. “It’s okay,” he adds, voice gentle as he brushes a light kiss to the brunet’s burning forehead. “Let’s just get you better, okay?”

Nodding, Grantaire drops his head against Enjolras’s chest.

“Okay.”


	40. E Cold and Sick During Hot Summer ft. Boyfriend R

“Summer is the devil,” Grantaire groans as he slams the apartment door open, shooting a piercing glare to the rapidly blinking thermostat. He drops his keys in the key tray resting on a side table beside the door then moves toward the broken device, jabbing his index finger at the buttons. “Summer is the devil, and you are supposed to be my savior,” he spits out at the thermostat.

He and Enjolras are on their fourth day with a broken AC unit, and Grantaire kind of wants to die. His skin is constantly sticky with sweat, leaving his hair plastered to his forehead and temples.

They have the windows open, but the stifling summer heat offers no breeze, so the two have opted to spend a lot of time out of the apartment until the unit can get fixed.

Grantaire kicks his shoes off and shuffles toward the bedroom, where he finds the bed empty and the desk unoccupied. He’s not surprised since he and Enj have only really been home for dinner and bed.

With a shrug, he shuffles into the bathroom and practically rips his damp clothes off before hopping into the shower. He turns the tap as cold as it will go and breathes out a relieved sigh as the icy water washes away the sweat from his walk home.

He spends twenty minutes under the cold spray, and he only reluctantly gets out when he hears the faint sound of the front door closing. He greedily misses the cold water as he quickly dries off before wrapping a towel around his waist to go in search of something to wear.

Walking around naked seems like a good option, but Grantaire opts instead for a loose short sleeve shirt and a pair of boxers. He will keep a small ounce of his dignity in case one of their friends decides to bust into their apartment unannounced.

“Enjolras,” he chirps out while making his way back into the living room, tone rising and falling as if mimicking the climax of a song. He stops behind the couch, questioning eyes staring at the shaking lump hidden underneath a blanket.

“Are you trying to give yourself a heat stroke?” He asks, tilting his head as he studies the trembling mass he calls his boyfriend.

“C-cold.”

The voice is so weak and so quiet that if it weren’t for the one, surprising word, Grantaire wouldn’t have heard. “What?” He asks sharply as he quickly moves around the couch, dropping into a crouch so that he’s eye level with his covered boyfriend. “E, it’s gotta be pushing 90 degrees in here.”

“I’m freezing,” Enjolras calls back weakly between chattering teeth.

Grantaire’s blood goes cold, and his muscles tense up. He reaches a shaking hand toward the blanket and slowly pulls the fabric away from Enjolras’s face, heart rate speeding up when his eyes fall onto his boyfriend’s poor features. 

Enjolras is clearly sick. His cheeks are a dark red, the only color on his otherwise ghostly pale face. Strands of wavy hair are sticking to his sweat-slick forehead, yet he’s shivering as if trapped in a slab of ice.

“Enj,” Grantaire breathes out, concerning laced within his tone. He places a hesitant palm to Enjolras’s forehead and sucks in a sharp gasp. He had been expecting a fever but not one this bad.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” Grantaire asks, voice thick with worry, as he stands and glances around for his phone.

“I wasn’t feeling that well this morning, and it just got worse.”

Nodding, Grantaire makes a beeline for the bathroom to grab the thermometer, and he fishes his phone from his abandoned pants pocket before heading back to Enjolras.

“Here,” he tells his boyfriend, sliding the thermometer into Enjolras’s mouth before punching one of his speed dial numbers on his phone. He presses the phone to his ear.

“Don’t call-”

“Combeferre,” Grantaire breathes out when the ringing stops. He shushes Enjolras’s weak groan before explaining the situation to Combeferre.

“So you know how our AC is broken, and it’s like a fucking sauna in here?”

_“Yes?”_

“Well I come out of a cold shower to find Enjolras shivering on the couch under a blanket.”

There’s a pause on the phone for a moment. _“Did you check his temperature?”_

The thermometer beeps only seconds later, and he snatches it up and looks at the blinking 103.6 reading. “He’s… Shit! It’s high. 103.6 degrees. Fuck.”

_“R-”_

“He needs to go to the hospital, right? Because that’s too high! He definitely needs-”

_“Grantaire!”_

Grantaire tugs the phone away from his ear with a slight wince before pressing it back to his ear. “Sorry, I’m just scared, Ferre.” He tells his friend while looking at Enjolras with a frown.

_“It’s fine. Pack some clothes, and bring him here. Pack some clothes for yourself as well, okay? You both can stay here until your air gets fixed.”_

“I’m going to kiss you when I see you,” Grantaire tells Combeferre as relief slows his heart beat down to a normal speed.

“You will do no such thing,” Enjolras mutters in between chattering teeth. 

Grantaire says a quick goodbye to Combeferre before leaning forward to press a feather light kiss to Enjolra’s burning forehead. “A friendly kiss,” he whispers, lips moving lightly against heated skin. “Let’s go get you better.” 

When Enjolras only nods, Grantaire pulls away, face scrunching up to mirror a look of sympathy. “You really aren’t feeling well, huh?” 

“No,” Enjolras breathes out, and Grantaire pulls him into a hug, rubbing hands up and down his trembling back in a small attempt to ease the shivers wracking Enjolras’s frame. 

“I’m really cold, R,” Enjorlas adds, burying his face against Grantaire’s neck, and Grantaire nods, tightening his arms as if he can physically chase away the tremors with a frighting grip. 

“I know, but you’ll feel better soon.” 


	41. Ficlet: E Hurt ft. Caretaker R Accidentally Saying the "L" Word

“I’m fine, R.” Enjolras gripes as he tactically pushes up on his left foot, arm extending high above his head to reach for a coffee mug placed on the highest shelf in the cupboard.

And, he thinks, he is fine. Sure his foot is slightly swollen and colored an impressive purple after a particularly nasty tumble down the steps at Marius’s dorm building, but he doesn’t need a keeper. He’s fully capable of doing everything himself. The pain isn’t even that bad; he finds its maybe a six on a scale of ten. Completely manageable.

His balance suddenly teeters, and he finds himself falling to the side without the cup. He would have crashed to the floor if it weren’t for a sudden, lean arm wrapping around his waist to steady him from behind. Another arm reaches past his head to easily grab the mug he’s been attempting to get for the better part of two minutes.

“You clearly aren’t,” Grantaire says, voice rumbling against Enjolras’s back, and Enjolras ignores the slight shiver as warm breath brushes across his neck in favor of pursing his lips out into a pout and breathing out a low huff.

When Grantaire steps away to place the mug in the Keurig, Enjolras hobbles toward the table, bracing one hand on the back of a chair as he glares daggers at Grantaire’s back.

“I am fine,” he spits out, voice dancing across a dangerous flame threatening to burn the brunet’s back.

Sighing, Grantaire turns until he’s facing Enjolras with an arched brow. “Will you just sit down before you fall down?” E, I love you, but you are being an idiot.“ When the Keurig chimes right after his words, he turns back to it to finish preparing the coffee.

Enjolras blinks absently, focus zeroing in on the small, four-letter L word that Grantaire just used as if it’s nothing. He pulls a chair out and drops down into it, chair legs creaking loudly under the sudden weight.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts, gaze boring a hole into the wall, that he fails to see the coffee mug placed on the table beside him, and his mind is so absorbed in tracing each letter of the word “love” that he fails to notice when Grantaire drops into a crouch in front of him.

“E?”

Love, Enjolras thinks as he picks apart each letter in steady calculations. Since when?

“Enjolras?”

They’ve been dating for only a few weeks. Isn’t it too soon to say the L word? He’s not sure; he’s not very experienced with dating since Grantaire is his first boyfriend.

“Enjolras!”

Jumping, Enjolras’s eyes snap toward the worried face hovering in front of him. His eyes dance across Grantaire’s face, as if searching for some sort of explanation, but Grantaire appears to only be worried about him.

“Are you alright?”

“You love me?”

Grantaire jerks back, stumbling over his feet until his back is pressed against the counter. “W-what?” He sputters out as a burning blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks.

Enjolras carefully gets to his feet, leaning heavily against the table to spare his injured foot. “Just a minute ago. You said you love me.” He watches with narrow eyes as Grantaire’s face briefly falls as if thinking before he cups one hand over his mouth just as his jaw practically drops to the floor. 

“I said-” Grantaire says, voice slightly muffled by his palm.

Enjolras limps toward the brunet until his face is inches from Grantaire’s. He latches fingers around the brunet’s forearm and pulls until he can see all of his face.

“I said I love you,” Grantaire breathes out, voice reflecting the surprise coloring his face.

Enjolras leans forward, pressing his lips flush against Grantaire’s. He can feel Grantaire’s arms find his waist, and he melts into the touch as their tongues dance about one another.

When Grantaire pulls away, Enjolras drops his forehead against the brunet’s. “I love you too,” he says quietly, and next thing he knows, he’s falling backwards as Grantaire tackles him with a hug.

The two collapse to the ground, and Enjolras winces as his foot is roughly jostled about. Instantly, Grantaire is off him, weight lifted from Enjolras’s chest by two hands pressed against the floor on either side of Enjolras.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asks, voice laced heavily with a deep-rooted concern.

Despite his foot throbbing, Enjolras laughs and nods. “You love me,” he repeats, heart swelling when Grantaire’s worried face brightens with a wide smile.

“I do. I love you.”


	42. Sick Ferre Having to Leave a Meeting

Combeferre watches with arms crossed tightly over his chest as Enjolras paces back and forth across the small stage with an air of confidence that could leave any man frozen in his tracks. Any trace of precious nerves are completely erased by a booming voice and glowing determined eyes.

He smiles as Enjolras fires off sentence after sentence with only little room for breathing. Their leader is on a war path with social justice as the end game, and Combeferre offers a light tilt of his head when the two briefly lock eyes.

That morning, Enjolras had woken Combeferre with a phone call where he proceeded to stumble over words in a flurry of panic directed toward the night’s meeting.

Combeferre had listened intently and reassured his friend, but he knew his kind words were falling on deaf ears. So, he resigned himself to pulling himself to the meeting despite feeling like utter hell.

Now, he’s relieved that Enjolras is back to his confident self, but he would feel much better if his limbs didn’t feel as if they were coated in a tough layer of ice that has him desperately trying to combat deep set shivers with his arms crossed over his chest. His head is throbbing in a persistent pulse that pushes against his eyes, and one subtle hand to his cheek tells him he’s running an impressive fever.

He shouldn’t be here; he knows this, but he had to come to ensure that Enjolras would he alright. He could handle a little suffering; plus, there’s only an hour left of the meeting. Once it’s finished, he will call a cab and get to bed to rest.

However, rest seems to beckon much sooner than Combeferre had planned after another ten minutes. His head feels as if there’s a hammer pounding against his temples, and his chest burns tightly from the many times he’s turned to stifle coughs into his coat collar.

The doctor side of him tells him to leave, so he does. He politely excuses himself to the members at the table and offers a small wave to Enjolras before he creeps out of the room and into the bathroom down the hall.

It’s empty, thank God. He braces one hand against the edge of a sink and coughs freely, over and over until his face is a burning red and tears brim in his tired eyes. His throat feels hot, like coals on a fire, when the coughing tampers off, and he’s just about to splash some cold water on his face when a low voice echoes across the room.

“You are an idiot.”

Combeferre’s shoulders tense for a brief moment before they slump down at the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice. He slides his glasses to the top of his head and leans forward to splash some water on his face. When he leans back up, he shivers as icy drops of water slide down his neck, and he blinks past the droplets clinging to his lashes to see Courfeyrac standing behind him through the reflection in the mirror.

“You look terrible.”

There’s only worry coating Courfeyrac’s tone when Combeferre turns to get a paper towel to dry his face. “I’m not feeling my best,” he admits with a hoarse voice as he pats at his damp face with a rough paper towel.

“Clearly.” Courfeyrac moves until he’s leaning against the sink beside Combeferre. “Why did you even come?”

“E was nervous,” Combeferre answers before turning to cough into the crook of his elbow. “I wanted,” he sputters out in between coughs. “To make sure he was okay.”

“You are too kind for your own good,” Courfeyrac tells Combeferre, and when Combeferre looks back toward him, Courfeyrac cups his cheek with a frown. “You’re running a fever.”

Before Combeferre can respond, another sudden voice joins the two.

“You’re sick?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac snap their gaze over to see Enjolras approaching the two with a face colored in concern.

“I’m-” Combeferre tries, but before he can finish, Enjolras is pushing toward him with a palm to his forehead.

“Courfeyrac is right. You are burning.” Enjolras drops his hand, and tilts his head, face twisting from confusion to guilt within the blink of an eye. “You came tonight for me even though you are sick.”

Ever so perceptive, Combeferre thinks. He nods once, figuring there’s no point in hiding what’s already clear as day to his friend.

“I… I didn’t realize. Combeferre, I’m so sorry.”

The guilt lacing Enjolras’s tone is pulled from deep within; Combeferre can tell, and he places a slightly trembling hand to Enjolras’s shoulder. “It’s quite alright,” he tells his friend, hoping to erase the pain coloring Enjolras’s eyes. “I just need to rest.”

“And I’ll be sure he gets to bed,” Courfeyrac says with a smile before he moves around to snake an arm around Combeferre’s waist.

Combeferre is silently grateful for the added support at his side, and he leans into Courfeyrac’s warmth, slightly so not to further worry the two.

“Please do,” Enjolras says, worry mixing with the guilt clinging to his tone. “I should,” he adds, motioning toward the door behind him. “I let Grantaire take charge while I came here, and I need to go to damage control.” 

“Good luck,” Courfeyrac says with a laugh. “I think my job of tending to a sick doctor will be much easier than your job of trying to convince the other members that you aren’t as kinky in bed as Grantaire says you are.” 

Enjolras’s face colors a deep red from his neck to his hair line in a matter of seconds. “Courfeyrac!” He shouts before realization has him spinning on his heel and bolting out of the room, and seconds later, a faint sound of cat-calls and whistling echoes from the meeting room. 

“Ah, I love R,” Courfeyrac says before tightening his arm around Combeferre’s waist. “Ready, love?” 

Too tired to speak by this point, Combeferre can only nods, and he drops his head against the brunet’s shoulder as the two start toward the exit. 


	43. E and R Secretly Dating and Ferre Finding Out When E Gets Mono From R

Combeferre tells him to lie down on the raised cot while he goes to examine the blood work, but Enjolras opts to ignore his friend in favor of sitting on the small bed with his back against the wall. He draws his knees to his chest and wraps one arm around his legs while he drops his chin atop one knee.

For the last week and a half, he’s been sick. He first thought it was merely a small cold, but his symptoms persisted. Normally, he’s one to work through illness because he’s always got a full plate of responsibilities, but a high fever paired with frightening fatigue has had him laid up in bed almost constantly. Eating has been pretty much a lost cause because his throat is so sore that any food irritated it, and it quickly became enough to where he reluctantly called Combeferre to set up an appointment.

It’s odd, Enjolras thinks as he stares at the door through heavy lids. The second he had walked into the room, Combeferre had suggested mononucleosis and began with blood work to confirm, but Enjolras assumes that Combeferre has dealt with mono enough times to recognize it by symptoms alone.

Sighing, Enjolras presses his free hand to his cheek. He’s been sporting a fever over 103 degrees for the last two days, and it’s almost a familiar feeling now. He’s almost used to the inconsistent chills forcing tremors across his heavy, tired body, and he’s learned to adapt to the deep pulse of a headache spread across his forehead.

His hand feels cool against his heated cheek, and he leans into his touch just as the door opens.

“I was right.” Combeferre says as a greeting, and Enjolras hums in agreement.

“You are a doctor,” Enjolras points out, watching with tired eyes as Combeferre pulls up a small, rolling stool toward the medical cot. He frowns slightly when Combeferre only stares hard at him instead of replying, and he wiggles uncomfortably under the stern gaze.

He lifts his head and matches Combeferre’s expression, with only a slight hint of question coloring his eyes. “What?” He asks, voice flat but still holding a tinge of demand.

“Are you dating Grantaire?”

“What?!” Enjolras spits out, only to fall into a coughing fit as his harsh tone grates painfully against his throbbing throat. He coughs over and over into the crook of his arm until his eyes brim with tears. When his coughing tampers off, he looks back, face deeply flushed and damp with sweat, and shoots Combeferre an incredulous look.

“I’ve recently treated him for mono.”

“He said that was just a cold.”

“So you two have talked about this. I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

Being backed into a corner is not something Enjolras handles well, and he struggles into a defensive stance despite his aching body. His eyes take on a dangerous glint that could freeze a man in his tracks.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Defeat tastes sour on Enjolras’s tongue as he nods one, quick nod.

“For how long?”

“Four months.”

“Enjolras!”

Enjolras waves off Combeferre’s sharp gasp with a weak shake of his hand. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not telling your best friend that you are dating your enemy is kind of a big deal!”

A low sigh slides up Enjolras’s throat, and he shakes his head, face collapsing down to mask the fatigue draining his body. “He’s not my enemy.”

“You are missing the point.”

Enjolras tenses at the tinge of pain coloring Combeferre’s tone, and his brows furrow together to reflect the concern ripping through him. “Ferre, R and I just aren’t ready to tell everyone.”

“R,” Combeferre parrots back with a low voice. “You never call him R.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you happy?”

Enjolras doesn’t handle being caught off guard well either, and he blinks in surprise as his lips part in a quiet gasp. “I… Yes. He makes me very happy.” He frowns as Combeferre’s eyes slowly slide across his face as if searching for something, but finally, the doctor sighs and pushes back in his chair slightly.

“I’ll keep your secret for now.”

An invisible weight lifts from Enjolras’s shoulders, and his body visibly slumps from the pressure of relief. “Thank you,” he breathes out just as his phone chimes off. He spares a moment to view his new text.

_[From: Grantaire The Great] u ok?_

“Let me go write out your prescription,” Combeferre says as a way of departure, and Enjolras offers a nod before thumbing away at his phone.

_[To: Grantaire The Great] Blood work tested positive for mono, but I’m alright._

*****

“Sucks that E has mono,” Courfeyrac tells Combeferre as he dries the dishes his boyfriend hands him. “I was gonna ask if he wanted to double date with us. Jehan said he would be more than happy to act as E’s date.”

“Well, he can take Grantaire now,” Combeferre says absently as he moves through the motions of rubbing a sponge around a plate, and it isn’t until Courfeyrac drops a plate beside him, glass shattering all around the two, that he realizes what he just said.

“Wait,” Combeferre says quickly, holding one hand out as he watches with wide eyes at Courfeyrac’s face twisting in confusion. “I didn’t mean-”

“They’re dating?”

“It’s not-”

“They _are_ dating!” Courfeyrac shouts, face pulled into a mixture of devious surprise. “Those little sneaks,” he spits out sharply before carefully dancing around shards of glass to exit the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Combeferre asks with slight fear lacing his tone as he cranes his neck to watch Courfeyrac race toward the coffee table in the living room.

Courfeyrac appears only moments later but doesn’t bother to look up from where he’s typing rapidly on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Combeferre asks, but moments later, his phone chirps in his pocket. He dries his hands and retrieves his phone, eyes widening as they dart across the screen.

_[New Group Chat: E and R!!?!]_

_[Members: Big Bad Bahorel, Father Ferre, CourfDaddy, Fellow Feuilly, Shakespeare, The Doctor Is In, Bad Luck Bossuet, Marry Me Marius]_

Combeferre looks from his phone, to Courfeyrac, then back to his phone and breathes out a very clear, very measured “shit.”

*****

Enjolras hums deeply as slender fingers card through his hair and gently pull him from sleep. He shifts around with a lazy smile and blinks tired eyes slowly until Grantaire’s face comes into view.

For a brief moment, Enjolras teeters the line of bliss, but reality catches up to him like a brick to the face. He jerks away from the brunet with a sharp gasp and turns panicked eyes toward him.

“You can’t be here,” he whispers loudly. “Marius-”

“Knows.”

Enjolras goes rigid at the single word, and his pupils blow up to an impossible size. “How?”

“Combeferre accidentally told Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac told literally everyone.”

“Shit,” Enjolras starts, eyes darting all across Grantaire’s face for any sign of anger or discomfort. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Future words are lost when Grantaire leans forward to brush warm lips against Enjolras’s heated forehead. “It’s fine,” he mutters, lips moving against Enjolras’s too warm skin. He pulls away but cups one hand over Enjolras’s cheek. “It’s been a few months now. They can know.”

Enjolras only responds by dropping against Grantaire’s chest, and he presses impossibly close to the brunet when strong arms wrap around his back. “Are they mad?”

“More surprised then anything. Jehan and Courf are making a cake.”

Enjolras cranes his neck up to meet Grantaire’s face. “What ever for?” He rasps out, brows furrowed in a clear sign of confusion.

“To celebrate, and I quote, ‘the impossible becoming the possible.’”


	44. Wisdom Teeth Removal ft. E and R

“I just don’t see how this is necessary,” Enjolras says with a clipped voice as he keeps his narrow gaze locked onto the passenger side window. He watches as other cars whip by as if they can’t reach their destination fast enough. Normally, he would yearn for their speed and direction and determination, but he’d rather let the seat at his back swallow him whole.

“Your dentist says it’s necessary,” Grantaire replies, sparing a quick glance toward Enjolras before flicking his amused gaze back to the road. “It won’t be bad. Most people have to have their wisdom teeth removed.”

Enjolras leans up and twists his body toward Grantaire’s direction and breathes out a low huff, only to wince as the brief expel of air brushes painfully against his sensitive teeth. He shoves the pain aside to the best of his ability. “The ‘most people’ argument is weak. If most people jumped off a bridge, that wouldn’t make jumping off a bridge any easier would it?”

Grantaire shrugs off the annoyance dripping from Enjolras’s tone as he glances in his side view mirror to swap lanes. “No, but if all those people live and were able to go on with their lives, then so will you.”

“That’s an illogical explanation,” Enjolras fires back, voice harsh and prompting for an argument, but just as quickly as the anger came, it flutters away, and he drops back against his seat with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

Grantaire blindly reaches out and drops a comforting hand to Enjolras’s leg. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him as his thumb moves in slow, steady movements, a contrast to the slight tremor in Enjolras’s leg.

“It’s going to be okay, you know? They will put you to sleep, and you won’t feel a thing. It will go by in the blink of an eye.”

Enjolras spares a glance to the steady hand on his leg that’s keeping him grounded before he slips a quick gaze toward the brunet “Why did you offer to take me?”

If Grantaire steps on the brake harder than necessary, Enjolras doesn’t say anything in response. Grantaire snaps a fast gaze toward Enjolras before looking back toward the interstate in front of him as his hands grip tightly at the wheel.

Play it cool, he tells himself as he sucks in a few measured breaths. “Ferre was busy, and Courf can’t be trusted.”

Nodding, Enjolras drags his gaze back to the front just as Grantaire moves onto an exit ramp. He swallows against the pit of panic threatening to block his throat and remains silent as Grantaire takes them the remaining distance to the clinic.

*****

Enjolras is tense on the small bed, and he flicks a desperate gaze toward Grantaire. “You will still be here when I wake up, right?” He asks, voice wavering across a thin line of fear.

The chance to be snarky is there, but Grantaire’s heart stutters in his chest at the desperation clinging to Enjolras’s tone. He bends down and cups a hand to Enjolras’s cold cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Enjolras can only nod, and moments later, one nurse is ushering Grantaire out of the room while the other tells Enjolras to count back from ten.

“Ten,” he starts verbally as his surroundings grow grey. “Nine,” he manages out just before everything goes black.

*****

Enjolras wants to jerk away from the hand shaking his shoulder, but it’s persistent and annoying, and he pries his eyes open and blinks away the haziness until a woman’s smiling face comes into view.

“You are all done. Everything went well.”

Enjolras struggles to follow the woman’s words. He’s not sure where he is, but his mouth feels clogged and stiff, and his head is swimming against slow waves. He can only nod, assuming that’s an appropriate response to the nurse’s words.

“I’m going to help you into the recovery room, and Jill is going to fetch your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend..? Enjolras moves with the woman’s hands as she eases him up into a sitting position. His mind is racing with all thoughts leading to dead ends. He doesn’t have a boyfriend, he thinks as he slowly walks with the nurse’s steady hand placed to the small of his back. Yet, anytime he thinks the mere word ‘boyfriend’, flashes of Grantaire spark across his mind.

He suddenly feels sad, fearful, like a piece of him is missing. He sits on the small bed the nurse motions to just as his eyes well with tears.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Silent tears down his cheeks, and he frantically shakes his head. He feels a frightening grip of sadness tugging at his heart, but he can’t peg the reasoning. The only consistent factor is Grantaire, but why?

He watches through bleary eyes as the nurse gives him a sympathetic smile before exiting the room and closing the door, and moments later, he can hear voices from behind the wall.

_“He’s crying right now, but that’s a fairly normal reaction when people come out of the anesthesia.”_

_“Okay, thank you.”_

Seconds later, the door is being gently pushed open, and before Enjolras can process what’s happening, he’s lunging off the bed and into Grantaire’s arms with a choking sob.

“Jesus, Enj!” Grantaire grunts out as his back hits the now closed door behind him. He snakes one arm around Enjolras’s waist and smacks his free hand back against the door to keep his balance.

“R, I thought… I don’t know… I thought you were… I was so sad… I-”

Grantaire pushes Enjolras back lightly but keeps both hands clamped to his shoulders. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m here.”

Enjolras slaps a hand to Grantaire’s face and smooths it all about Grantaire’s warm skin. “You are here?” He questions, voice muffled by the gauze in his mouth.

Grantaire can’t help the small laugh from slipping past his lips as both brows quirk up in amusement. “Yes, I am here.”

Enjolras steps back with a small stumble and drags a studying gaze from Grantaire’s face down to the brunet’s worn converses. “And you are real?”

“As real as I can ever be.”

Enjolras accepts this, and he steps forward and slumps against Grantaire’s chest. “Thank goodness. I was sad, and I didn’t know why, but it had to do with you, and I’m just glad you are here because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Grantaire goes rigid against the weight of Enjolras’s words. His mind is telling him that no, Enjolras doesn’t really love him, but sometimes… Sometimes people spit out truths when coming off of heavy anesthesia. Either way, his heart is left a pounding mess in his chest, and his cheeks heat up with a burning blush.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks instead of pressing the sudden use of that four-letter L word.

“I’d go anywhere with you,” Enjolras says into Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire can only hum weakly in response as he rubs both hands up and down Enjolras’s back. 


	45. E with Meningitis

“I’m fine!” Enjolras snaps, pen clenched tightly within one trembling fist as he stares daggers at his boyfriend as if he can will the brunet away with his gaze alone. He doesn’t miss the way Grantaire’s face falters slightly, nor does he miss the way Grantaire’s jaw juts out against his skin, a clear sign that the brunet is hiding clenched teeth behind pressed lips. 

But, he doesn’t care if he upsets Grantaire; he’s got too much work to do and no time to rest off this flu or whatever that’s leaving him feeling incredibly fatigued. He rubs a hand along the back of his neck as if he can smooth away the stiffness. The skin against his palm is warm, too warm to peg on the apartment heater, but he’s not surprised. He’s been running a low grade fever for the last few hours, but this work isn’t going to get itself done, so pretending that he’s okay is the only option for now. 

Grantaire wordlessly turns on his heel and exits the bedroom with a slam of the door. Enjorlas can’t keep the surprise from washing over his face; normally Grantaire will stay and argue or coddle him, so his abrupt leaving is something new to Enjolras. His eyes linger on the door for a moment, heart twitching uncomfortably in his chest, before he turns his attention back to his work with a low sigh. 

*****

Enjolras is slowly pulled from sleep by an intense pounding spiking across his forehead. He groans and weakly presses one palm to it, only to force heavy muscles into a sitting position at the intense heat. He knows he wasn’t this hot before he went to sleep; but now he feels as if he’s burning from the inside out despite his limbs trembling as if he’s been locked in an ice box. 

He very carefully gets out of bed as to not wake Grantaire and stumbles out of the bedroom. He has to brace himself against a wall as he blindly makes his way to the bathroom for each step feels as if its landing against a tilting floor. He relies on muscle memory alone until he reaches the bathroom, and he forgoes turning on the lights in favor of stumbling toward the medicine cabinet behind the small mirror in the dark. 

A few bottles fall into the sink with loud clinks as he feels around for the thermometer, but after a few more moments, his fingers brush against the small device. He grabs it then stumbles back until he drops against the edge of the bathtub, legs no longer able to support him. He pops the instrument into his mouth and waits, arms wrapped around his trembling frame. 

When the thermometer beeps, he grabs it and stares at the reading with widening eyes: 105.2 Degrees. Not good, he tells himself, even he knows this. He moves to stand, to get to Grantaire, but he ends up falling to the floor against a harsh wave of dizziness that leaves his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Once more, he tries to stand, but his legs are too weak; his body is too weak. 

“R!” He calls out without much hope because of the brunet’s heavy sleeping, but within seconds, he hears a frantic thumping down the hallway followed by blinding lights that burn like direct sun rays against his eyes. He cups a hand over his eyes with a sharp wince. “Lights,” he mutters around chattering teeth, and a split second later, the room is once again cut to darkness. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Grantaire’s voice is breathless, frantic, and Enjolras can only hold out the thermometer toward the brunet. 

Grantaire drops to a knee in front of Enjolras and takes the thermometer with a shaking hand. He sucks in a sharp gasp at the high reading then takes his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek. He frowns deeply at the evident heat. 

“I need to go to the hospital,” Enjolras manages out, and Grantaire’s heart plummets in his chest as he nods and helps his boyfriend up. 

*****

Enjolras is half-asleep when his hospital door slams open to reveal Courfeyrac with Marius right behind him. The two boys look as if they’ve just ran the entire way, and Enjolras groans at their presence. 

“Is he…” Courfeyrac starts in between gasping breaths. “What’s wrong?” 

“Meningitis,” Combeferre says from behind the two as he ushers them out of the way to get back into the room. “He’ll be fine; he just has to go on bed rest for about ten days.” 

“Jesus,” Marius mutters as he enters the room and sinks into an open chair. “R made it sound like he was dying.” 

“I thought he was,” Grantaire argues from his spot curled around Enjolras on the bed. He keeps the steady rhythm of carding gentle fingers through Enjolras’s damp hair as he shoots a narrow gaze toward the others. “He’s the one who told me he needed a hospital.” 

“Can we all stop talking like I’m not here and shut up?” Enjolras asks weakly, rolling over to bury his face against Grantaire’s chest. 

Grantaire shoots the others an arched brow look as he motions with his head to the door, and they leave with hushed promises to reassure the others that everything is okay. 

When the room falls silent, save the occasional flip of a paper as Combeferre reviews Enjolras’s paperwork, Grantaire wraps an arm around Enjolras’s back and pulls him closer to his chest, and Enjolras snuggles into the steady warmth, already half-asleep before his mind has time to process what’s happening. 


	46. R Sick But Claiming He's Just Clumsy ft. Worried E

“Are you okay? You’re shivering.” 

Grantaire keeps his gaze locked forward as he breathes into his cupped hands to bring warmth back to his icy fingers. His muscles ache deeply, and the sharp shivers running rampant across his body are doing nothing to ease the settling pain. He jerks through a shrug. “It’s cold out here.”

“It’s not that cold.” Enjolras says, voice flat and matter-of-fact, and Grantaire can practically hear the frown in his boyfriend’s tone.

But, he still refuses to look at Enjolras as the two continue on down the sidewalk, with the sun dipping low behind a towering building as the streams of pink coloring the light blue sky fade away to night. He contemplates arguing that it is in fact cold outside, but when a group of girls all sporting short dresses and bare legs walk by, his mouth presses closed, and he clamps his teeth together as he mentally wills his body to warm up.

“Are you sick?” Enjolras asks, voice holding a hint of concern that’s evident enough to have Grantaire turning toward him with a groan. 

The plan was to give Enjolras an incredulous look while motioning wildly to his face and asking if he looked sick, but the mere turn of his head has him stumbling against a wave of dizziness, and he just misses Enjolras’s outstretched hand to fall on his hands and knees.

“R!” 

Enjolras is crouched and at his side in a second, and Grantaire pushes up until he’s balancing on an unsteady teeter on the balls of his feet with a sheepish smile. “One of these days, my clumsiness is going to be the death of me.”

“You aren’t clumsy, though. You’ve never been, not even when you’re drunk. What’s going on?” Enjolras’s voice is quick, sharp, and laced along a thick string of worry as he helps Grantaire stand with gentle hands. 

Grantaire wants to wave away his boyfriend’s concern, but he can’t deny that the steady hand on the small of his back is helping keep him upright at the moment. He mentally debates if he should tell Enjolras that he’s been feeling unwell for the last few days, that his head goes from a dull ache to feeling as if it’s being ripped in two or that his entire body aches so much that each step feels like a challenge or that his temperature has been flipping and having him feeling blistering hot to icy cold in the blink of an eye.

But then he thinks on to how stressed Enjolras has been with work and classes and how his boyfriend doesn’t need this added component. So, his hazy mind draws to the conclusion, and he parts his lips to build on the excuse hot on his tongue, but before he can utter a word, Enjolras is sidestepping around to face him and pressing a palm to his forehead.

“Grantaire, you are burning up!” 

Grantaire can’t help his eyes fluttering closed as he unconsciously leans into Enjolras’s cool touch that provides a brief feeling of relief from the evident heat spread across his forehead, but his eyes snap open when the hand disappears.

“I think I should take you to Joly.” 

“Why?” Grantaire asks, lips curling into a frown. 

“Because you feel like a furnace.” 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“R, you half-passed out like a minute ago, and you are running a fever!”

Grantaire’s mouth is open, and his lips are burning with a counter-argument, but his face falls when he takes in the deep color of worry glowing in Enjolras’s wide eyes. “I just need rest,” he tries instead, keeping his voice gentle and reassuring.

“Joly has-”

“I know Joly has a whole cupboard of medicine, but all I need is some ibuprofen and sleep, Enj.” Grantaire grabs Enjolras’s hands and laces their fingers together, offering an assuring squeeze. 

Enjolras tilts his head, seeming to contemplate this. “Let’s make a deal.”

“What is this? A game show?” Grantaire asks with a weak laugh. 

“We can go back to the apartment, and if your fever is over 104, we are calling Joly.” 

“Can it be Combeferre instead?”

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire smiles as the two begin walking again. When he stumbles as another wave of dizziness washes over him, Enjolras is quick to wrap an arm around his waist.

“I feel like I should just call Combeferre now.” 

Grantaire breathes out a weak huff and drops his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “Still just clumsy,” he says weakly, knowing full and well that that argument has been dispelled the moment Enjolras caught onto the fever.

“Or the fever boiling your brain.” 

Grantaire jerks to a stop and snaps a sharp gaze toward Enjolras. “You really need to stop watching those sketchy medical top ten videos at three am.”

“They’re informational.” 

“No, they are made by twelve-year-olds with voice modulators and WebMD pulled up,” 

“Hush,” Enjolras spits out, and Grantaire sinks back into Enjolras’s side with a shiver despite the warm smile pulling at his lips.


	47. Sick Coffee Barista R ft. Worried, Determined Wealthy E

When the bell above the door chimes, Grantaire lifts his chin from his palm and drags a tired gaze toward the front of the coffee shop, lips curling into a frown as Enjolras strides in in front of an icy breeze that carries in from outside. 

With a slight shiver, Grantaire straightens up, not bothering to hide the raspy groan that slides up his burning throat. “Why do you come in here everyday?” He asks as Enjolras approaches the counter. “Don’t you have fancy coffee at daddy’s house?” Each word scrapes against his throat like glass piercing flesh, but he keeps both brows arched in taunting question. 

However, the usual spitfire replies from the outspoken son of the mayor don’t come. Instead, Enjolras’s entire body grows visibly tense, yet the worry coloring his eyes is enough to have Grantaire rolling his own, tired eyes with a deep sigh. 

He knows. He knows that his voice doesn’t sound the best right now thanks to a pesky cold that’s been bouncing around his art class; over half of today’s customers have expressed concern toward his health, and he’s never been one to like being coddled over. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he groans along a weak cough he masks with his fist. “It’s just a small cold.” 

“Your voice,” Enjolras mutters, one hand waving about weakly in a clear struggle to find words. 

“My voice doesn’t sound that bad!” Grantaire shouts, only to turn away as burning coughs shoot up his throat. He coughs into the crook of his arm, over and over and over until he’s left panting for breath and gripping the counter to keep his balance. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I work here,” Grantaire rasps out, voice still managing to hold a hint of a teasing tone. 

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras spits out sharply. “Why are you working when you’re clearly sick?” 

“Because I have to?” Grantaire says, tone tipping up in obvious question that Enjolras brushes away with a loud huff. 

“Employees should be allowed paid sick leave,” Enjolras starts, hand sliding around the strap of his messenger bag and gripping it tightly. “It should be the right as a worker! How can any business thrive when an employee is so sick, he can barely stand?” 

There’s a burning passion coating Enjolras’s tone, yet, Grantaire only arches one brow at the man’s words. 

“I’m standing perfectly fine,” he mutters against a weak cough, but Enjolras waves his words away quickly. 

“It doesn’t matter!” Enjolras growls out before turning sharply on his heel and starting toward the door. “I’m leaving to write to your manager, but I’ll be back. I’ll get you out of here, Grantaire.” 

Grantaire can’t feel the second burst of icy air as Enjolras slams out the door. All he can feel is the slight heat creeping up at his cheeks because Enjolras knows his name despite his inability to remember his name tag. 

The very attractive, very wealthy son of the mayor knows his name. 

Grantaire smiles for the first time that day, and he leans against the counter, watching and waiting for Enjolras to return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've gotten to the one that I've had plagiarized before. 
> 
> Don't plagiarize, guys. It's wrong, and it makes the author feel like shit.


	48. E and R on a Hayride ft. E sick and getting progressively worse

Enjolras fought to go tonight despite suffering with a persistent cold that won’t go away no matter how much work he put toward resting. And, Grantaire fought back, claiming that the hayride would be back next year, but Enjolras knew how much Grantaire wanted to go, simple as it is. So, he pressed the brunet until Grantaire caved, yet now, regret is brewing within Enjolras’s chest as the two bump around on the hayride. 

Enjolras’s head is throbbing, and each jerky bump drives a burning nail into it that chips away to spread a boiling heat across his forehead. Yet, his limbs feel as if they are coated with a slick sheen ice that cools his bloods uncomfortably. He shivers and turns away from Grantaire to sneeze harshly into the crook of his arm, only faintly aware of the stern glares from parents around the two. 

He breathes out a slight huff that fogs in front of him as he turns back to Grantaire, but instead of the smile he was anticipating, Grantaire’s frowning with creased brows and an evident glimmer of worry dotting his eyes. 

“R-” Enjolras tries, only to sigh when Grantaire’s palm finds his forehead for the third time that night. 

“You’re warmer than before,” Grantaire mutters, voice thick with deep-rooted concern. 

“So what if I have a slight fever?” 

_“Slight?”_

“I’m fine, R,” Enjolras groans, yet the few words grate against his burning throat just enough to have him whipping his head to the side to cough harshly into his fist. Each cough scrapes like heated glass against his throat, and when the brief fit finally tampers off, he finds the hayride stopped and Grantaire standing on the ground in front of him. 

“R, what-”

“Let’s go,” Grantaire says with one hand out toward Enjolras. “You’re too sick.” 

“Grantaire-” 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire calls back with a sigh. “It’s fine; let’s just get you home, okay?” 

The pleading coating Grantaire’s tone has Enjolras taking Grantaire’s hand and allowing the brunet to help him off the hayride. He’s unsteady on his feet as a wave of dizziness washes over him, but Grantaire wraps a quick arm around his waist, and the two start silently back to Grantaire’s car. 

It’s another thirty minutes until Enjolras is curled up on the couch with a hot cup of lemon tea and a warm blanket draped across his shoulders. His legs are curled up onto the couch, and he’s leaning against Grantaire as the TV plays faintly in front of them. 

Neither’s said much of anything the entire way home; the only inkling of conversation had been Grantaire muttering soft orders to Enjolras when the two arrived at the apartment, and Enjolras muttering half-hearted words of agreement. 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras mutters. “I know how much you like hayrides.” 

“It’s a good thing I like you more,” Grantaire says before leaning down to plant a kiss against Enjolras’s head. “Now shut up; silence is a part of your resting.” 

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner’s of Enjolras’s lips, and he snuggles closer to Grantaire with a content sigh as the two pull their focus toward the documentary flashing across the screen. 


	49. R sick during finals and passing out during a presentation ft. worried E

It’s starts off as a cold, nothing more than a nuisance of an illness that has Grantaire coughing, sneezing, and sniffling, with a tissue practically glued to his nose as he shuffles from classrooms to the library to study for finals. He keeps his distance from the others, has been the second he woke up with a stuffed up nose. He doesn’t need any of them catching this for they are all busy, especially Enjolras, who’s tackling the max amount of classes possible in a semester right now. 

But, he’s a couple of weeks into this cold, and he’s not getting better like he’s been anticipating. No, if anything, he’s gotten worse. He’s tired, and he can’t seem to go five seconds without falling into a coughing fit that leaves him borderline breathless. 

He can feel a twinge of anxiety bubbling at the bottom of his stomach because finals week has officially started on campus, and he feels like shit. He can’t afford to take time to rest despite how much is body is practically begging for it. 

The prickle of anxiety is building, hot and fast, and Grantaire feels two seconds from being swept under a massive wave when his phone rings, a familiar tone that acts as a cooling counterpart against the heated stress until he’s able to reach for his phone with a steady hand. 

“Hey,” he croaks out as he presses the phone to his ear. 

There’s a pause, a short intake of breath, before Enjolras speaks. 

_“I was going to ask if you are ready for your presentation, but I think I should wait and ask how you’re feeling first.”_

“I’m ready,” Grantaire replies before turning away from the phone to cough harshly into his fist. “I went through my notes all last night.” 

_“R, you’ve been fighting this cold for two weeks now, and you’re not getting any better. You sound terrible.”_

Grantaire keeps quiet– he knows Enjolras isn’t done. 

_“I’m coming over.”_

“No, you aren’t,” Grantaire snaps, heightened tone forcing him into a deep coughing fit that leaves him doubled over while Enjolras calls out from the phone. “You’ll….. get sick.” He sputters out in between coughs as he tries to regain his breathing. 

_“Then see Combeferre or Joly.”_

“I’ll try to pencil them in around the two finals and two presentations I have today,” Grantaire snaps back as he spares a glance to his presentation notes littered across his desk. 

_“Grantaire, please.”_

Soft plea sounds so off coming from Enjolras. Grantaire’s fingers tighten around the phone as he sucks in choppy, ragged breaths. “I really don’t know if I’ll have time today.” 

_“If you won’t let me see you to take care of you, then you need to see one of them. I know you’re stressed, R, but you really don’t sound well, and I’m getting worried.”_

“I’ll see if ‘Ferre can meet me after my first presentation.” 

_“I’ll text him as soon as I get off the phone.”_

“Great,” Grantaire says dryly. “Thanks.” 

_“I’ll see you in class. And, R?”_

“What?”

_“I love you.”_

Grantaire takes a moment to let the words sink in before he parrots it back to his boyfriend. The call ends seconds after, and Grantaire sighs heavily as he slowly gets to his feet to gather his books and notes for his presentation. 

*****

It’s almost funny, Grantaire thinks as he struggles to give his presentation around harsh coughs. He’s usually healthy despite his poor drinking habits, and the one time of the year he gets sick, he’s buried in finals and presentations. 

When he catches his breath, he spares a glance toward Enjolras, who is sitting as tense as ever in his seat and sporting furrowed brows and a deep frown. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells the teacher before trying again. He manages four words before his lungs quake with biting coughs that have him turning away and coughing into the crook of his arm, over and over. He’s faintly aware that his chest feels weird– it’s warm and aching, but those thoughts are quickly interrupted by a darkening mind. 

He can’t stop coughing to get a solid breath in, and his mind is growing hazy. Suddenly, like the flick of a switch, his mind goes black, and when he comes to mere seconds later, he’s on his knees, one hand stretched and still holding the top of the podium, and Enjolras and the teacher are at his side. 

There’s a lot of talking and rough, quick examination before he’s being pulled to his feet by what appears to be an incredibly worried Enjolras. He tries to follow what’s happening, but he feels as if he’s still struggling to wake up from a deep sleep despite only blacking out for a few seconds. 

When he and Enjolras reach the hallway, Enjolras ushers him onto a bench before dropping into a crouch with one hand finding Grantaire’s knee while the other reaches up to swipe away unruly bangs to palm Grantaire’s forehead. 

“You’re warm,” Enjolras mutters, sliding gentle fingers down to Grantaire’s cheek. “It doesn’t seem bad enough to pass out.” 

“I blacked out because I couldn’t breathe,” Grantaire admits around a few, weak coughs. “But I can breathe now, so can we go back in?” 

“No,” Enjolras says quickly. “I’ve called-” 

“Enjolras! Grantaire!” 

Grantaire snaps a sharp gaze to see Joly running toward them, and he pulls a quick one back to Enjolras. “Joly?” He whispers. “Not Ferre?” 

“Joly’s more experienced,” Enjolras manages out just as Joly comes toward the two. He gets to his feet and allows Joly to take the space directly in front of Grantaire, opting to hover behind Joly with his arms crossed. 

“Enjolras said you fainted?” 

“Blacked out for, like, two seconds,” Grantaire corrects, but his words go unnoticed as Joly starts feeling his forehead with one hand and his pulse with the other. 

“You’re a little warm, but not too bad. Your heart rate’s a little too fast for my liking. Other symptoms?” 

“He’s coughing constantly,” Enjolras answers as Grantaire turns away to cough. “He passed out because he couldn’t breathe.” 

“Jesus, R,” Joly mutters just as Grantaire catches his breath and turns back to the two. “I think your cold blew up into bronchitis.” 

“Well, it’s going to have to wait until after finals,” Grantaire starts, but before he can stand, Joly’s pressing him back down with a firm hand to his chest. 

“Grantaire, we need to get you medicine and to bed. If you’ve let the bronchitis get his bad, there’s a chance it could turn into pneumonia soon.” 

At the word “pneumonia,” Enjolras is racing back into the classroom, returning only moments later with both his and Grantaire’s stuff. 

“E-” Grantaire tries, but Enjolras holds up a hand. 

“We’re going to the doctor to get you medicine, and then you are going to rest.” 

“But, my finals-” 

“Let me handle that.” 

With a cough, Grantaire quirks a brow. “Teachers don’t like you much, E.” 

“No, but they love Combeferre, and it will help that he’s in nursing. Now, let’s go.” 

There’s nothing but airy panic to Enjolras’s tone, and it’s enough that Grantaire allows Joly to help him to his feet. The three start toward the exit, and Grantaire leans heavily into Enjolras’s side. 

“You’re going to miss your finals, too?” 

Enjolras keeps his eyes forward, glowing and determined, as he wraps one arm around Grantaire’s shoulder for added support. 

“You’re more important. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll go back and correct any and all errors at some point!


End file.
